He'd just dropped everything and decided to drive. Two days and three packs of cigarettes later found him at a crossroads with less than a quarter tank of gas left.
Should have stopped those two miles back, who knew when the next station would appear. He didn't feel much like walking.
He didn't have a gas can.
He was almost out of cigarettes.
He flipped the Zippo lighter closed with a metallic thunk and tossed it onto the dash along with the unlit cigarette.
Sighing gustily, he shifted into reverse and did a quick three point turn to go back the way he'd come.
With the evening quickly turning to night he flipped the headlights on, leaned back and drove with one hand casually draped over the wheel.
Fifty-five miles per hour was nothing compared to what he used to drive.
The cobalt Hudson pulled silently into the run down gas station and he made it a point to be as inconspicuous as possible.
He hated the questions, the remarks, but most of all the admiring looks. The celebrity status was no longer a welcome one.
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