A Better World

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For my father, who showed me what it means to be a man.

Cold liquid splashing across his face brought Kevin Temple back to himself.

He’d been on the road all night, a dedicated run from Indiana hauling a load of fresh vegetables. Fifteen minutes out of the depot in Cleveland, and he had that stale feel, too much coffee washing down too much beef jerky. What he’d really been craving was a double cheeseburger, but while it would surprise no one to see a trucker gone flabby around the middle, it was a point of pride that at thirty-nine he weighed only ten pounds more than he had in high school.

When sirens lit up the darkness behind him, he jumped, then cursed. Must’ve zoned out, gotten heavy on the pedal—only no, the speedometer read sixty-seven. He’d been tired, but not so whacked that he’d drifted out of his lane. A broken taillight? It was after four in the morning; maybe the cops were just bored.

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