I opened the window of the car and summer slipped in beside me.
“I know him,” I said when the air conditioner objected to our picking up this hitchhiker. I’d been following him, I could have explained, watching for glimpses of him through the windshield.
I had almost forgotten the smell of his cologne, one part fresh-cut bluegrass, one part humidity, one part – oh, I can’t name it. Maybe heat, the kind you see rising up in a haze on the horizon? But now I remembered: The scent of summer before time ran away.