He tosses in another quarter. The gate still doesn't rise. From behind, a horn blasts. Rocker yells, flashing his left middle finger out the window. Finally, after Rocker has thrown in two dimes and a nickel, the gate rises.
Rocker brings up a thick wad of phlegm.
He spits at the machine. Hate this damn toll. With one hand on the wheel, the other gripping a cell phone, Rocker tears down the highway, weaving through traffic. In 10 minutes he is due to speak at Lockhart Academy, a school for learning-disabled children. The speedometer reads 72.