Jackson Wheeler

I was hauling freight out of the Carolinas up to the Cumberland Plateau when, in Tennessee, I saw from the freeway, at 2 am a house ablaze. Water from the firehoses arced into luminescent rainbows. The only sound, the dull roar of my truck passing.  I found myself strangely happy. It was misfortune on that cold night falling on someone’s house, but not mine not mine.