Bridles

The 18-wheeler pulled up to the customs booth, and the customs agent stepped out and called up to the driver. “What’s your load?” “Ponygirls,” growled the burly, bearded driver with the Bettie Page tattoo. “Pull into the inspection station, please.” The driver nodded and maneuvered his truck over to the designated area. He shut off the engine and stepped out. As a seasoned trucker, he knew the routine—he handed the binder full of forms to the agent and dug out the keys to open the back. ...

Craig woke early. 6 a.m. Very unlike him for a Saturday. He knew his parents were up, but he pulled the covers over his head and rolled on to his side. Today was his birthday, his sixteenth birthday, and he knew they would be all over him, probably had a party planned. He didn’t want a party. He wanted it to be Monday. It wasn’t fair, damnit. He’d have to wait two whole days before he could get his license. ...