“Say that again?” David shouts into the cellphone, feeling the bite of the wind against the back of his neck. What a swell time to get a haircut? Who exactly was going to care about the way his hair looked during Christmas dinner? Doesn’t matter, the howl of it is bad enough. He couldn’t possibly have heard what she said. Looking at the tipped over semi in the middle of the road, David watches Luther talking to the bloodied driver.