Your Body is Changing Read Online Free

don’t you know, I misplaced that envelope. Can’t you just imagine when someone finds it one day? They’re going to get some kind of surprise. Delightful. Anyway, I don’t suppose it was cancer, knock wood, because I’m not dead yet. I don’t recall what I wrote on the front of the envelope. Hey, you passed him!”
    The Frenchman had turned and Three had kept going down the highway.
    “Of course I passed him,” said Three. “We’ve been the only car behind him for at least thirty minutes. If he’s not suspicious yet, he will be if he sees us following him down that red dirt road. We need some tactical distance.”
    It was a while before they found a place to turn around. When they got back to the dirt road they saw the broken gate at its entrance, the rusty, buckshot-riddled NO TRESPASSING sign. Three switched off the headlights and started down the road, which was wide enough to accommodate no more than one car.
    It had rained a few days before, and huge ruts had dried everywhere. The Escort’s shocks were completely shot. The men bit their tongues, clashed their teeth, hit their heads on the roof of the car, and they were blind.
    “This is the real Alabama,” said Dud.
    “I hate to do this,” Three said. He switched on the headlights. “I’m a fucking shitty detective.”
    Something with flashing yellow eyes ran out in front of the car and bounded into the thicket.
    “That GPS sure would come in handy about now.”
    “How, Dud? How the fuck would it? We don’t know where the fuck we’re going.”
    Dud shrugged. “I’m just saying,” he said.
    “I’m cracking this fucking window,” said Three.
    “Don’t you dare!” said Dud.
    “I’m fucking claustrophobic, okay? It smells like shit in here. I feel like I’m breathing your skin. God, why do you sweat so much?”
    “Metabolism,” said Dud.
    Three cracked the window and made a big show of gasping for air. “God, it stinks worse out there than it does in here,” he said.
    “Alabama. Should have thought of that before you rolled down the window,” said Dud. “Now it’ll never go back up.”
    “Bullshit.” Three tried to roll up the window, but was unsuccessful.
    Twenty minutes later they reached the end of the road, and there was literally nothing there. The crickets, locusts, and tree frogs were deafening.
    “Huh,” said Three. “Where the fuck did he go?”
    “He vanished,” said Dud.
    “Yeah, that’s helpful. Well, maybe there was a turnoff somewhere.”
    They backtracked, and indeed came upon a crossroad they had missed before.
    “Which way do we go?” said Dud.
    “Well, first we go one way and then we go the other way,” said Three.
    Taking a right, they almost immediately came to another crossroad. Three put on the brakes.
    “Shit,” he said. “I can see I’m going to need some inspiration.”
    He lit his joint and began to smoke it. Once he held it out for Dud, who declined. “Suit yourself, hotshot,” said Three. The car filled with moths, horseflies, gnats, junebugs. Three sat there and smoked his joint until it was nothing but a wet little dot that hardly existed.
    After that they drove for a long time, over roads of dirt, roads of oyster shell, roads of gravel, turning whenever Three got a hunch, until they ended up on a road almost too narrow for the Escort, where shrubs and stickers clawed at the doors, branches came in the window and scratched Three’s face, and they saw, just up ahead of them, the Frenchman’s car parked next to a stream that intersected the path. Three snapped off the lights at once and stopped the car.
    “Shit,” he said softly.
    “Do you think he saw us?”
    “I don’t the fuck know, Dud. I don’t even know where he is.”
    “It’s a good thing his car was there. We could have driven right into that stream.”
    “I have to admit I’m kind of fucking scared,” said Three in a whisper. “Maybe it’s the pot.”
    “Maybe he’s sitting up there in that dark car just