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waltwalters16 karma

First gear works most of the time. Second gear some of the time. Walt can’t remember if third gear works. He doesn’t need third gear on his farm’s dirt roads.

Rattling and sputtering along in his Chevy C10, Walt makes his way north on Interstate 49. He holds his breathe, well, as much as a man who smokes three packs a day can, and shifts into third gear. Success.

In the low light of dusk, Walt’s eyes searched to find a sign for Route 56. His son had told him not to come. The last time Walt drove past suppertime his truck inadvertently plowed a section of the cornfield.

“Faulty steering link” Oliver said.

Six hours, three gas station stops, and 17 expletives later Walt pulls into the parking lot next to the little brick bookstore. As Walt steps out of the truck and makes his way to the door, he sees a small flyer advertising the book signing.

“Hugh Howey. Yes, that’s the name.”

Walt stormed into Rainy Day Books looking for this Hugh Howey he has heard so much about. The whole room turned to look at Walt - his entrance interrupting Howey’s speech about how much popular culture influenced Wool.

“Mr. Howey. My name is Walter. I was wondering if you could come help me repair my silo.”