Hitchhiker in Residence

My adventures with Writers X and Y continue. Yesterday, we went to the beach and spread out a sheet on the sand. It was a warm day, and I was scoping out the hotties. Being around women has rocked, y'all, and at the same time, I miss men terribly. I had dreams the first few nights I was here about mundane moments with strange men, where I'd ask them if they were in line, or for a cigarette, etc. Yesterday after the beach-- where writer Y went to the water to wade, and writer X and I sat on the sheet and mulled our work, characters etc.-- we began our drive back to the farm when we saw a shirtless guy, big, sort of cut, hitchhiking on the side of the road. I said, "Hot!" Writer X, who was driving, said, "Should we?" And I screamed, "Fuck yeah! Do it." So we picked up the hitchhiker and drove him to the grocery store in town. The poor man was terrified of us. He told writer Y that he'd walked all around Mutiny Bay, and had been out walking since dawn. The whole ride over, I was dying to ask, "So...How did you end up without a shirt...Or a car?" But I didn't, just stole coy glances at him and hoped he'd appear later, in a not-so-mundane dream.