We were halfway between McMinnville and Lincoln City when the smell of shit overwhelmed us. It was overwhelming, this smell of shit, when the windows were up more than when they were down. The smell was potent enough to cover twenty years of stale cigarette smoke in the car. It was strong enough to cover the smell that had been affecting us negatively, the smell coming from the trunk. “Fertilizer,” I said. “I guess.” He fussed with the radio’s dial. We picked up a preacher’s sermon and then a talk radio station. “I don’t think I’ve listened to AM radio even once in my life,” I said. “It’s an old car,” Bobby said. “We can walk back from Newport,” I said. “Shouldn’t take too long.” “Four, five days,” Bobby said. He sighed. “I don’t want to do that.” “I don’t really want to either,” I said. It was true, I didn’t even want to walk from my apartment on 23rd Ave to the bar on 17th when Bobby called. It’s not that I’m lazy, it …