Daddy's strip search

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Hum swung the Olds onto the exit road. He touched the brakes and slowed to a sedate thirty-five miles an hour. Sulky Lo hadn't been paying much attention. But when Hum found himself on a two-lane, high-crown road behind a hay-laden farm truck, Lo sat up straight and looked around. She wasn't very happy.

"Hey, wait a sec," she whined. "Where we going?"

"Pisky."

"Pisky? Is that really the name of a town?"

"Uh-huh. Pisky. It's just eight miles down this road." Hum glanced at his watch. Two-thirty.

On a warm spring day. In rural Arkansas. According to the map, the town was large enough to support a public school. And with luck, the school would be discharging its student body for the day just as the big Olds turned onto Main Street.

"Dad, can I ask you a stupid question?"

"Ask away."

"What possible reason could you have for going to dumb, loathsome impossibly ordinary Pisky, Arkansas? Can you answer that or is it too stupid for you?"

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