Three A.M. on East Franklin Street and there were just these three things moving. A battered green one-ton pickup truck with a hanging muffler and two kids from New Jersey; an old guy who told them how to get to Manns Chapel Road; and the cop car that made a quick u-turn and followed them out of town.
“One last thing,” Ted had pointed out before he left Massachusetts. “Every Southern town is a speed trap. Every one.”
I didn’t know the way anyway so that’s all I had to think about the first night in Chapel Hill.
