“The moon was up, the clouds lit like silver plate, the sand dunes on the roadside spiked with salt grass. When I passed a lonely filling station, I thought I saw a boxlike vehicle with a lacquered black top and fenders and a maroon paint job on the body parked at the pumps. It had white sidewalls and chromed-wire wheels. I was almost sure it was the 1932 Chevrolet Confederate, the same model driven by Clyde Barrow and Bonnie Parker shortly before they were cut into pieces by automatic weapons f...ire in Arcadia, Louisiana. I thought I saw a man wearing a slug cap fueling the tank.Almost fourteen years had passed since my encounter with them. Was I imagining things, a man my age? Or did I want their ghosts to pursue me? Did I secretly admire their cavalier attitude toward the law, their indifference to the lives they took? No, that was not the case. My fascination was not with them; it was with Bonnie Parker. Someone from the car spat on Grandfather, and I had always prayed that it was not she.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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