IT’S NONE OF YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS! ” Cody, ever the pacifist, tried to calm him down. “Man, relax,” he told him. “It’s fine. Don’t tell us. No big deal. ” The hitchhiker, though, wouldn’t let up. “IT’S MY FUCKING BOX!
In his mid-twenties, he sat quietly in the backseat, the box on his lap, not saying much. “From a town up north,” he answered when Cody asked him where he was from. “Not sure where, just south,” he told me when I asked him where he was heading.
Finally, I couldn’t stand it any longer. I had to know. “Man, just tell us what’s in the box! ” I laughed, looking at him in the rearview mirror. “This is killing me! ” Looking directly at me in the mirror, his face darkened. “I told you.
That’s NONE OF YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS! ” Shouting now, he continued. “WHY DO YOU CARE WHAT’S IN THE BOX!? SHUT UP ABOUT THE BOX!
For the first time, he looked directly at us. “That’s none of your fucking business,” he whispered.
IT’S NONE OF YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS WHAT’S IN IT! ” He continued shouting for the next five minutes or so, getting more and more wound up, spittle flying from his now-crazed mouth, his eyes flashing with anger. Finally, I had enough.
I heard something heavy roll around inside it as he moved it. “That’s enough, man,” I told him. “Get out of the truck. ” Surprisingly, he did with little argument.
Read more here: The Inertia