From the corner of his eye he spotted a gas station, some little shithole of salvation. He let a breath of relief filter through his lungs before taking a sharp left turn and pulling into the makeshift parking lot. There was a caf� of sorts attached. Maybe a quick cup of coffee� he thought without completion or coherency, sliding out of the torn leather seat.
He walked around to the side and unscrewed the valve. With his other hand he yanked out the pump with a vengeance that was useless and soon forgotten by the inanimate object.
A low buzz enclosed him from behind and he looked up to see that it was beginning to rain. The water bore down on him, a demand to make its presence known. But even soaking wet he didn�t acknowledge it.
Minutes later he was inside, handing the cashier a fifty. �A pack of Newports.� He nodded a thanks as his fingers wrapped around the cardboard. �Keep the change.�
The cashier looked at his retreating form in bewilderment.
He walked to the back of the caf� and secured himself a seat in a booth away from the rest of the world. He slipped out of the jacket that was now wet and lowered the hood on the sweatshirt he was wearing. As the waitress approached him, he put on the smile he was famous for. Even in solitude there was no reprieve from the life he led.
�What can I get ya, sweetie?� her voice was thick with a Boston accent. He wondered whether he had even made it to Boston.
�Just coffee, thanks.� He replied.
�Nothin� to eat?� she asked with feigned concern.
�No. It�s just a pit stop.�
She left without a response. He reached for the pack of cigarettes, his fingers unwrapping the plastic at a feverish pace. His thumb slid one forward and out of the box. The lighter gave breath to his only escape. Taking a deep breath, he inhaled the drug like it was his last, letting none of it go to waste. Within minutes it was bleeding down to its core, and no sooner had it whispered its last goodbye than he lit another.
The waitress returned with his coffee and dumped two creamers onto the table. �Need anything else?�
He�d be damned if he knew. �I�m good.� The phone rang its shrill interruption seconds after his first sip. He looked down, recognizing the number that appeared on the screen. He�d meant to end the call but found instead that he had answered. �Yeah?�
�Justin�?� the voice whispered its inquiry into static.
�What do you want?� he sighed, noting the desperation in her tone. There was no fight left in him to save this battle, to prevent what he had known was inevitable from the beginning. She was just another valuable that had flown out the car window and into the highway path he had lost long ago.
�When are you coming home?�
He paused. �I don�t know if I am. I can�t talk right now�I told you not to call.�
�I miss you. Please.� She pled.
�Don�t.� he ordered. �I gotta go.� And it was over just that quickly. Without a hint of anticipation or remorse he closed the door to his thoughts and his relationship with her. She was just another excuse that lacked an explanation.
Downing the last of his coffee, he stood. He slapped a twenty into the waitress�s palm and brushed past her without acknowledgment.
�I�ll be right back with your change�� she trailed off, confusion touching her voice.
�Don�t worry about it.�
As he slipped back behind the wheel of the car, he sighed. The key brought the engine to a roaring start and he left the gas station with an anticipated squeal of his tires and nothing else.
On the unpaved road once again, he kept his eyes on the stretch of night before him. He was seventy dollars poorer and a world of unwanted experience richer.
His foot delved lower onto the accelerator. It was the beginning of a search for something that would find him nowhere he had ever been, for something that would find him everywhere he had remembered as worthwhile.