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