Drive
Keep Driving.
Despite the heavy clouds, the air was still warm. I wiped the sweat from my eyes, trying not to focus on the blood splatters on the ground.
He was still sitting there, not moving. He hadn't moved in a while. Being handcuffed to a chair and beaten will do that to a person. We had been together for most of the day, him and I, having a nice long talk. He had needed some persuasion, but he had finally told me what I wanted, given me the information I needed, and and now his usefulness was at an end.
Lighting up a cigarette, I turned, deciding that I needed a few moments; my hands were shaking badly. Taking several long drags, I faced him once last time. He wouldn't be moving again any time soon.
Walking out, I headed towards my car, which seemed like a sanctuary after the long hours in the warehouse. Opening the door, I let the last of my cigarette fall before climbing inside.
The clouds exploded as I started the engine. I was glad; maybe the rain could wash away the remains.
I drove, and I drove. At some point I flicked on the radio, occasionally singing along with the static. Anything to keep my mind distracted.
After several miles, I pulled over, my hands still trembling. The desert stretched around me on all sides, the darkened sky arching up like a cathedral ceiling. The rain was still coming down heavily, but I stood outside for another smoke, relishing the coldness.
The cigarettes could only do so much to help. Letting the third stub drop to the floor, I thought for a moment, my wet clothes clinging to my skin. I knew I needed something stronger. I knew I still had some of my stash in the trunk.
Ten minutes later I was driving again, my nerves finally calmed. I was going over ninty, but I found myself not caring about the speed; it was like I was flying.
Eventually the rain trailed off and the sky cleared, and I kept driving; I still had a long way to Culiacan .
He was still sitting there, not moving. He hadn't moved in a while. Being handcuffed to a chair and beaten will do that to a person. We had been together for most of the day, him and I, having a nice long talk. He had needed some persuasion, but he had finally told me what I wanted, given me the information I needed, and and now his usefulness was at an end.
Lighting up a cigarette, I turned, deciding that I needed a few moments; my hands were shaking badly. Taking several long drags, I faced him once last time. He wouldn't be moving again any time soon.
Walking out, I headed towards my car, which seemed like a sanctuary after the long hours in the warehouse. Opening the door, I let the last of my cigarette fall before climbing inside.
The clouds exploded as I started the engine. I was glad; maybe the rain could wash away the remains.
I drove, and I drove. At some point I flicked on the radio, occasionally singing along with the static. Anything to keep my mind distracted.
After several miles, I pulled over, my hands still trembling. The desert stretched around me on all sides, the darkened sky arching up like a cathedral ceiling. The rain was still coming down heavily, but I stood outside for another smoke, relishing the coldness.
The cigarettes could only do so much to help. Letting the third stub drop to the floor, I thought for a moment, my wet clothes clinging to my skin. I knew I needed something stronger. I knew I still had some of my stash in the trunk.
Ten minutes later I was driving again, my nerves finally calmed. I was going over ninty, but I found myself not caring about the speed; it was like I was flying.
Eventually the rain trailed off and the sky cleared, and I kept driving; I still had a long way to Culiacan .