"Let's run down old Ror's situation once more, for our viewers who have just joined us," he said, turning to look up and down the highway. "Middle of the damned night. Check. Miles from anything even resembling civilization. Check. Raining to beat the band. Check. Had to rent a convertible, and the top won't go up. Check. Not a single damned car to be seen for miles in either direction. Check. Can't get a decent station on the radio. Check. No phone. Check. No cigarettes. Check. No booze. Check."
He nodded. "Yep. Looks like I'm officially up shit creek. I just wish it wasn't so damned familiar, is all."
Sighing, he leaned back against the car and hunkered down inside his jacket for a long, cold, miserable wait.
Several hours later, he spotted a pair of headlights coming his way. "'Bout damned time," he groused, and stepped into the road to flag the car down.
*No, not a car. A Truck. Big eighteen-wheeler, and he looks to be in a hurry.* Rory started waving his arms, and wondered idly whether the driver would see him in time to stop or not. After the night he'd had, he wasn't sure he cared.
He was only mildly relieved when the trucker slammed on his brakes and came to a shuddering stop mere inches from where Rory stood. Through the windshield, he could see the driver waving him to climb inside.
He grabbed his duffle-bag out of the car and did just that. As he opened the door, he noticed a cartoon pig on the side of the cab, but he didn't take the time to get a better look. He clambered into the cab and leaned back into the comfortable seat with a sigh.
"Well, hell," the driver said, "look what the storm dragged in. Where ya headed, friend?"
Rory turned his head to get a look at his rescuer. Tall and lean, he wore jeans and a t-shirt, a Harley- Davidson baseball cap and sunglasses, even though it was pitch dark outside. Shrugging, Rory extended his hand.
"Name's Rory Harris, and I'm headed to the closest town where I can rent something better than that hunk of shit," he said, jerking a thumb at the abandoned car on the roadside. "I'm glad you stopped in time, man."
"Well," the driver said as he shook Rory's hand, "I never drive faster'n I can see. And like I always say, it's all in the reflexes. Glad to have you aboard, Rory. My name's Jack Burton. Welcome to the Porkchop Express."