Travels with Frankie

I’m not John Steinbeck. And Frankie isn’t Charley. Probably the only thing we have in common is that I’m a writer, Frankie is a dog, and we’re heading out in a car together. Nor am I Jack Kerouac. And Frankie definitely isn’t Dean Moriarty. I’m a stressed-out middle-aged woman with a small frightened dog and…