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Rufus drove. Rufus always drove.
“How come you always get to drive?” Bud complained. He took the last swig of his beer and flung the bottle out the window where it smashed against a live oak. He hooted and reached between his feet to pull another out of the carton.
“What? What's why?” Bud had already forgotten the question. He took a long pull from the long neck.
Rufus nodded at the bottle in his friend's meaty hand.
“You forget what Sheriff Dalton said last time?” Rufus asked.