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Part 2

  The winding backroads finally give way to a main highway, and the murky blue of dawn seeps upward from the horizon. There are more cars now. I find myself grateful for the soft roar of of traffic. I weave gently through the other cars, pressing forward, always onward. I just twist off the lid of my thermos and grimace as I sip my lukewarm coffee—I guess it has been awhile since my last stop. I attempt another dismal sip, but reflexively gag. How is lukewarm coffee orders of magnitude worse than both too-hot and too-cold? There’s something Christian-y about that, right? Because my coffee is lukewarm, I shall spew it out of my mouth. I put the coffee away and rummage around in the passenger seat for something to eat—beef jerky, trail mix, anything. My fingers graze cold steel. I tense up instinctively and glance at the snub-nosed pistol in the seat, surrounded by empty packages of assorted food and snacks. Once a shiny silver, it’s now dulled to a grubby gray. It seems small
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Part 1

  I drive into the dark , white lines darting hypnotically beneath the car one after the other like luminescent fish in a river of pitch. Nothing exist s beyond the dim glow of the headlights. The windows are down; a pleasantly cold wind whip s through the car. It’s quiet—just the hum of the engine and the sound of dense rubber spinning smoothly over asphalt. The car radio is gone—well, not gone, but ha s long since stopped working, and subsequently been removed, now taking up residence in the rear dash. Now there is only a gaping slot in the exact center of the dashboard, emanating a tangible silence. I sigh and fumble for a cigarette, stripping the cellophane from the fresh new pack, sliding a single mentholated Virginia Slim from the others. I pull it to my lips. I think of my mother. I mutter a curse under my breath, and flick the unlit cigarette out the window. Headlights appear behind me, glaring and bright. Too bright. Too close. “Dim your lights,” I mutte
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