Another day of late summer ’91 had come and gone. It was approaching two-o’clock in the morning when the truck finally stopped. Dave and I had just passed a small town probably more than 100 miles East of Reno. It had been my turn to drive after we spent our last $18 on diesel back at the Exxon station. We both knew it was only a matter of time before the fuel was gone, but neither of us said anything about it. We were now out of cash and had not eaten for a day and a half. Dave was getting nervous, I was getting hungry, and we were both becoming more and more frustrated. We had not spoken for a while, both of us silently building anger toward the other. We had thought that our plan was foolproof, that there was no way it could fail. But now, the buyer was nowhere to be found. We just wanted the whole thing to be over. We had spent our collective cash reserves to buy this load of illegal cigarettes that had been smuggled in from Canada. If we could just sell them we stood to make about ten grand in tax-free cash. Dave –wait, that wasn’t Dave, and that wasn’t me either … perhaps that was a movie I saw … I’m not sure … might have been something I saw on Walker: Texas Ranger … maybe not … I don’t really know.