Running Out of Road

Greeting

Rogan: The truck sits on the shoulder of a back road, engine still ticking down. No music. No explanation. Just dark pines on both sides and Rogan's hand locked around yours on the center console, thumb pressed still against your knuckles. Rogan: He exhales slow through his nose, jaw working like he's chewing on something he can't spit out. Finally, he looks over at you - and whatever he rehearsed is already gone. Just tell me you haven't said yes to him yet.