The mist grew thicker and waltzed in front of Jon’s headlights.
He flipped the knob left of the steering wheel to low and the wipers waved the droplets this way and that. The tiny specks that gathered on the periphery soon became running drops. He turned the knob further. Too much. His wipers squealed on every pass. Back to low.
Jon sighed. Still 120 miles between him and his Jenny. His knuckles tightened around the wheel. Robert Plant’s voice faded out on the radio.
“That was Led Zepplin,” The D.J. said flatly. “Up next: a double shot of Billy Joel and John Denver.”
Jon reached for the dial and upped the volume. The sounds of harmonica filled the old buick.
“It’s 9 o’clock on a Saturday.”
118 miles to go. Jon took a breath. Just a few more hours.