The trucker liked labels, so he wrote “hat” on his hat, “oil” on the can in the vault, and “vault” on the vault itself. “You already know what those things are,” complained the man with his thumb stuck out. The trucker wrote “hitchhiker” on the complainer and pulled him into the cab marked “cab.” They merged with the traffic, which was also labeled, but not with nouns. Instead there were dotted lines and striped cones, traffic signs and license plates. One orange diamond-shaped sign warning the lane would end showed a graphic of the lane actually ending. The trucker switched sides, only to find a mirror image of the sign. Merge right and also merge left? What was he supposed to do? Where was he supposed to go? “Anywhere but here,” the free rider mumbled, as they disappeared down the lane converging on itself.

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Cheryl Snell’s books include several poetry collections and the novels of her Bombay Trilogy. Her latest title is a series called Intricate Things in their Fringed Peripheries. Most recently her writing has appeared in Gone Lawn, Ilanot Review, Cafe Irreal, Pure Slush, Literary Yard, and New World Writing. A classical pianist, she lives in Maryland with her husband, a mathematical engineer.