Don’t hurt a bit.
Tappets can rattle till Jesus comes again without no harm.
But that thudding as the car moves along—can’t hear that—just kind of feel it.
Maybe oil isn’t gettin’ someplace.
Maybe a bearing’s startin’ to go.
Jesus, if it’s a bearing, what’ll we do?
Money’s goin’ fast.
And why’s the son-of-a-bitch heat up so hot today?
This ain’t no climb.
Le’s look.
God Almighty, the fan belt’s gone!
Here, make a belt outa this little piece a rope.
Le’s see how long—there. I’ll splice the ends.
Now take her slow—slow, till we can get to a town.
That rope belt won’t last long.
’F we can on’y get to California where the oranges grow before this here ol’ jug blows up. ’F we on’y can.
And the tires—two layers of fabric worn through. On’y a four-ply tire.
Might get a hunderd miles more outa her if we don’t hit a rock an’ blow her.
Which’ll we take—a hunderd, maybe, miles, or maybe spoil the tube?
Which?
A hunderd miles.
Well, that’s somepin you got to think about.
We got tube patches.
Maybe when she goes she’ll only spring a leak.
How about makin’ a boot?
Might get five hunderd more miles.
Le’s go on till she blows.
We got to get a tire, but, Jesus, they want a lot for a ol’ tire.
They look a fella over.
They know he got to go on.
They know he can’t wait.
And the price goes up.
Take it or leave it.
I ain’t in business for my health. I’m here a-sellin’ tires.
I ain’t givin’ ’em away.
I can’t help what happens to you.
I got to think what happens to me.
How far’s the nex’ town?
I seen forty-two cars a you fellas go by yesterday.
Where you all come from?
Where all of you goin’?
Well, California’s a big State.
It ain’t that big.
The whole United States ain’t that big.
It ain’t that big. It ain’t big enough.
There ain’t room enough for you an’ me, for your kind an’ my kind, for rich and poor together all in one country, for thieves and honest men.
For hunger and fat.
Whyn’t you go back where you come from?
This is a free country.
Fella can go where he wants.