Nine hours and bless the magnesium.

Early in that nine, I was walking among the houses in the hills and it was raining harder. I sought shelter in the rusted hulk of a pickup truck. There was no instrument panel and the seats were only bare springs, but I was grateful to be not getting even more wet.

After a long moment I noticed that its engine was purring so quietly that the rain noise was almost drowning the sound.

I gingerly pushed down the clutch, put it in reverse, and then let up on it slow. To my shock and delight, the truck moved.

So I drove it the last forty miles into Flagstaff.

Was that a crime?