13 Dynamite

Cessia, and these cleratives, sir, recognize that danger sign in the eyes of a woman, whose mind is fused with an obsession of escape, a slow burning fuse that sputters with an angry

hist towards its destination of dynamite. And thus our story starring Susan Haver, it of every year, the blinking headlights of massive trucks dot the inland california highway route from san francisco to los anglers

some carry produce from imperial ban some carry oil from the refineries at long beach and el segundo some which travel a special route carry cargo identified only by a small red flag and a sign which reads danger keep your distance These trucks carry nitro glycerin, dynamite, whose dormant power and force of destruction

burns like a fuse in the minds of the drivers, until dynamite becomes an obsession. Working josely. It's an eating place just off the main highway about 30 miles out the Baker Steel. Most of the truck drivers who stop the aircombing by my right name, which is maple, except for one or two who think they'd be in real clever when they call me tuts.

Very beautiful. So I guess it was mostly on account of the way this Fred first spoke to me to court my attention. The biggest feel crowded just pulled out and I was cleaning off the tables in the back so I didn't see him come in.

And suddenly I didn't say... Oh, Miss. Hello. Hello. Say, can I get a cup of coffee? That's what I'm here for. Cream and sugar? And I just cream. How's the apple pie? Terrible. I'll have a piece. You run this run?

Uh-huh. Just out of today. What are you carrion? Oh, well. Elks a gun door along Beach. Long Beach. You ought to carry eight g's. You make more money. What's eight g's? High explosives. Blitzer and dynamite that stuff. Here's a fork. Oh, thanks. Maybe if you carry that you won't live long enough to spend the extra money.