By Steve Brawner, © 2018 by Steve Brawner Communications, Inc.
I could have died last week picking up a hitchhiker, but not how you might think.
She was about 40 years old, and she was sitting outside a gas station with her stuff and her dog. Her face was covered with tattoos. She was headed to Oregon, but first she needed a ride to the Health Department in Little Rock. She called herself a “traveller.”
The Health Department was at 3915 W. 8th Street. With my phone almost dead, I decided to take the exit off I-30 and look for the street number rather than use the power-sapping map. But the numbers were nowhere near 3915. Driving through downtown, I keyed in the address, thinking the location must be on the other side of the Capitol. Instead, the phone’s map showed it was farther west and on the other side of I-630.
That was confusing, and meanwhile my phone had dwindled to about 1 percent battery power. I kept looking at the screen as I took the entrance ramp and began to merge onto I-630. I was transfixed by that map and the urgency of that 1 percent, until my passenger calmly said, “There’s a car parked on the side of the road.” Continue reading


