So there’s this crazy thing going around about doing a story a day in May. Going to give it a shot. Here’s the first:

Jesse woke up groggy and cold. Greyhound was not known for comfort, but half a bottle of Robo cured all,especially on the night trips. Night trips were all he’d take now,anyway. Day meant sun, and people, and hope. Jesse wanted none of these.

He hopped off the bus, bag on his shoulder. Same McDonald’s at 3AM, same staff firebombed by life. Minimum wage and minimum lives, slowly being crushed by reality. He used to care and think they were sad. But that was a lifetime ago,it seemed. He splashed water on his face, hoping to stay awake long enough to feed, then take the other half of the bottle of Robo.

Looking in the mirror was always a mistake. He never wanted to anymore. Some guy was staring at him in the mirror, then blinked. Not his eyes, just himself. Jesse turned, but then guy just walked off. Robo did some strange stuff, especially in large amounts. Jesse shivered, then headed to line up with the rest of the travelers.

Two cheeseburgers and a Coke later, and Jesse was getting close to awake. Another trip to the john and one long chug would take care of that. He could sleep without the Robo, but the Robo held the dream in check. Last thing Jesse wanted to do was dream. He was rising to go hit the head when the guy sat down across from him.

The first thing Jesse noticed about him was that he didn’t notice him. Your eyes kept sliding off of him. Jesse was unsure of what the guy wanted from him. Some wanted drugs, others a quick trip to the stalls before boarding back up. Jesse didn’t swing that way,but it didn’t bother him when they asked. Only when they wouldn’t take no for an answer. The last one had taken Jesse’s Robo stupor as a reason to discount his 300 pounds and 6 feet of height. That guy was still in a cell in Knoxville, he hoped.

Jesse sat down. Years later, he wouldn’t be able to say why. He couldn’t figure out why he kept not looking at the guy. You’d think he could the way the guy looked. Not too many dread heads on a bus to Green Bay,especially old ones. And the pink parka should have made him stand out as well, But Jesse kept not looking at him.

“Give me the gun”. The voice was a low rumble,snapping Jesse’s head up in an instant. He didn’t know how the guy knew. The guy just stared at him now, his eyes locked on Jesse’s.

“Give me the gun. Just slide it under the table.” Jesse started to sweat,wondering if this was some cop thing. He’d spent one night in jail around here, and didn’t care to repeat the experience.

“I’m not a cop, and you don’t need it.” Jesse just stared at Mr. Old Rasta, his Robo buzz gone in a flash of adrenaline. The weight of his journey was suddenly clear, and tears welled in his eyes.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,man.” The backpack was resting on the seat next to him. He tried to look over at it, but his eyes wouldn’t leave the piercing stare. He never could remember later what color the man’s eyes were.

“Don’t do it, Jesse. You think this is what they’d want? What you’ve become? To have it end like that?” The bag seemed to be made of lead now. Jesse was wondering what show he was on. He glanced around, seeing a state trooper at the registers. Maybe it was time to go for it.

Then a little girl wandered in front of the trooper, and Jesse froze. She was the same age as his Alice. Clarity hit him, shattering his nerve.

Jesse unzipped the backpack, and slid out the .22, hidden in a folded up shirt. He slid it under the table, not sure why. The man just smiled,stood, tipped a non-existent hat, and was gone.

“All passengers for Greyhound 45, time to go!” The world snapped like a rubber band around him. He stood, groggy, wondering about the dream. He slid his hand into the backpack, finding the pistol gone. One of his fellow passengers was standing as well. Jesse asked him about the old Rasta he’d been talking to. Guy hadn’t seen him,and asked what Jesse was smoking,since he’d been alone this entire time.

Jesse boarded the bus, sitting down in his seat. As the bus went down I-94, dawn crept over the horizon. It was still dark, Jesse thought, but a little light was coming back. He hugged the bag,holding what little he had left of Alice. He was taking it to where she’d been born, and maybe he could start living there as well.

one, no title.