Short fiction: Highway to...?

Jim Warrens drove down the interstate. He was heading West at about 3 p.m. It was winter so the sun had already sunk below his roof and peered through his windshield. Jim wore a pair of aviator sunglasses, his favorite pair, that dyed the landscaped into a sepia, like an old photograph taken of the burgeoning days of agriculture in the central valley of California. Almond trees passed by in uncountable row after row as his 2009 Dodge truck barreled through.

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