With All Senses

I guess it started with the coffee. Like, not even good coffee - that burnt stuff from the gas station on 23rd that Mom always said would kill me one day. But whatever, it was 3 AM and I needed something.

The fluorescent lights made everything look weird. You know how everything feels sort of underwater at that hour? Yeah. The guy behind the counter didn't even look up from his phone. Just this soft tapping sound as he played some game.

I was counting out change when she walked in. God, she smelled like cigarettes and something sweet - maybe vanilla? Her boots were all scuffed up, leaving little black marks on the linoleum. She was wearing this oversized Rangers jersey that had definitely seen better days.

"Hey," she said, and her voice was rough. Probably from the cigarettes. "You got any more of those hot dogs?"

The counter guy finally looked up. "Been rotating there since yesterday morning."

"Perfect," she said, and smiled this crooked smile that made me drop a quarter. It rolled under the coffee machine.

"Shit," I muttered, getting down to look for it. The floor was sticky. When I stood back up, she was watching me.

"Save your quarter," she said. "I'll buy your coffee if you split this hot dog with me."

And like... who does that? Who shares a day-old gas station hot dog with a stranger at 3 AM? But there was something about the way she said it - like she already knew I'd say yes, like this was just something that happens.

The hot dog was terrible. We sat on the curb outside, passing it back and forth while trucks rumbled by on the highway. Her name was Alex. She was heading west, she said. Didn't say where exactly. Just west.

"Want to come?" she asked, wiping mustard from her chin with the back of her hand.

I thought about my morning shift at the bookstore. The pile of laundry in my hamper. The text from Mom I still hadn't answered.

"Yeah," I said. "Okay."

Sometimes that's just how it goes, right? One minute you're buying crappy coffee, and the next you're in a stranger's pickup truck, watching the sun come up over Iowa or Nebraska or wherever the hell we were.

Alex turned on the radio. Static and fragments of songs. Her fingers drummed on the steering wheel, out of rhythm with everything.

I fell asleep somewhere around dawn. When I woke up, we were still driving. Still west. The coffee cup was empty in the cupholder, but I swear I could still taste.

Disclaimer: the story is completely fictitious! 🥲