Do you remember that time when the car broke down driving through Tifton? Ugh, and it was so miserably damp and cold and windy. Why don't cars ever break down when it's 65 degrees and sunny, seriously?

It was nothing but truckers passing us on the road, and we spent 20 minutes debating whether chicken trucks or logging ones were less likely to be driven by serial killers before that state trooper's car stopped, but he was so creepy-intense that we lied and said my boyfriend was probably already on his way back with the tow truck, really, and we were just fine waiting, sir.

Wow, I hadn't thought about that in forever. What was that guy's name, the lawyer with the car phone? Biff? Buddy? You never called him, did you? I bet he still tells the guys at the bar about the one who got away.