The Smashed Finger
It was a cold February morning in 1971. My dad had leased a truck out to a San Antonio Trucking Company with me driving it. I spend all week living in a small rundown motel that set along I-10 on the east side of San Antonio. The trucking yard was just down the frontage road. Most of the time I hauled equipment around San Antonio, but one afternoon I was dispatched to a steel company on north I-35 to load steel beams to go to Houston. I got loaded and parked the truck in the yard for the night. I … Continue reading The Smashed Finger