046/365 10/06/2025

They arrived in the village well after midnight, having hitchhiked from the last remaining town marked on their map. The driver, a weathered man behind the wheel of an ancient Tatra 138 first told them they didn’t want to go there. Then, after some cajoling, he agreed to take them through, but wouldn’t be pulling over. “I not stop,” he said in halting English. “I slow down very much, but no stopping.” The two of them agreed, and hefted themselves into the truck bed and settled in between crates of cabbages and chickens.