I made the run from Tucson to Tucumcari in six hours, pushing my gauges to make up for lost time. Least that’s what I told myself. Truth is I just like going. I live for the run of it. You set me down, I’m nothing but itch, like a greyhound you hold by the collar. I don’t answer to nobody, not even the dispatch. Oh, I get along with them. You got to, you want to work. But I know when I sign off that they are sitting chained to a chair somehwere and I am out here, rolling on.