The truck driver let me off a few miles outside of Wheeling as the sun was rising. He was headed north to Pittsburgh and I had to get over to I-76 toward Harrisburg. I felt rested but hungry. I grabbed a quick breakfast at the truck stop and was back on the road.

I got a couple of short hitches. One from a guy around my age who had a lisp and another from a married couple. I could feel the wife’s anger from the back seat. But the husband was cool and got me 25 miles closer to Angela. Next, I was picked up by an old man who took me nearly to Harrisburg. I thought he might be the nicest person I ever met. He asked about me, my family, and school. He even gave me a fiver when he dropped me off. You never know who you’re going to meet on the road.

The nice old man dropped me off somewhere in the Pennsylvania farmland. The sun was low in the sky. He had to turn south and head down a small highway. I hustled back to the freeway and decided to try to walk again. Sometimes standing by the exit just didn’t suit me. After walking a mile or two, I saw the sign: Next Exit 13 miles. That was not good news. I kept walking, back to the oncoming traffic, with my suitcase in my right hand and my left thumb out, hoping for another long haul ride.

“Dude, what are you doing?” The voice came from out of the bushes near the freeway. I looked over and, stepping out, was a very thin, fully-grown man with long hair and a beard. He was wearing a long army coat and had a dirty book bag.

“Tryin’ to get a ride,” I said, stopping.

“Not here, ya ain’t,”

“Why not?”

“I been here all day. No rides.”

I started walking again. “Hey!” he said loudly. I stopped and looked back.

“Ever raid a watermelon patch?”

“What?”

“They ain’t quite ripe yet, but they taste good.”

My stomach growled.

“C’mon, I’ll show you.” He took off down the embankment and headed toward a field.

A smarter man would have gone back hitchhiking. A more experienced man would never have trusted the guy. I was neither. But I was hungry. I crawled down the hill and followed him into the field, just as the sun was setting.

For the next hour, we gorged ourselves on watermelons. They were small and only the middle was sweet, so we had to bust open a bunch of them.

We didn’t speak to each other much.

“Told ya,” he said at one point.

“So good,” I said once.

By the time we finished, it was dark. He tossed his backpack on the ground and used it as a pillow. I fished my jeans out of my suitcase, lay down a few feet away, and fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

I was awoken by a bug on my face. I sat up, squinting at the morning sun. The long-haired man was gone. I checked my pockets. I still had all of my money, save the money I had spent on food. I got up, stretched, and walked back toward the freeway.

Tomorrow: They Only Have Double Rooms