I raised my hands to my own imaginary steering wheel. I drive like you. Every day, ten hours. Mr. Errabo snorted. I was no slouch.
Nobody drives twenty-four hours.
Today I drive twenty-four hours, no sleep maybe ten minutes sometimes. Tomorrow another man drive twenty-four hours, I sleep. Next day, I drive twenty-four hours, he sleep. Mr. Errabo jerked the wheel back and forth three times to weave us through a series of beach ball-sized potholes. In California, drive ten hours.