(Untitled)

[m_pinocchio]

In the end he's not sure what to do with the news. It doesn't come as a shock--someone like him gets moved around a lot, and he knows by now to not get comfortable anywhere he goes--and really it should come as a relief, leaving the middle of fucking nowhere, even if he's going to a more southerly bit of fucking nowhere, because as least that will

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[little_moons]

Fucking shitty, static-y tape deck, but the music's so fucking loud, it doesn't matter. I miss it. Wendy singing in the backseat, dancing to the fucking Cure, or whatever Preston's got shoved in his glove compartment. I miss it, but I pretend like I don't. This is a perfectly normal drive home from the ballpark. An afternoon game, for once, and I'd kicked Preston out of the announcer box and gotten a blowjob, fifty dollars folded up in my wallet.

I try not to think about how awkward it's seemed, these last few weeks. Like I'm going through the motion, simply because I don't know how to stop. I can't explain it. I don't want to

[m_pinocchio]

He doesn't recognize the car, but he recognizes Neil when he gets out, and when Neil gets out of the passenger's side he recognizes that he isn't alone. For a slightly panicky moment he's thinking mother but when he squints he catches a glimpse of the driver, and... no. Not mother.

Definitely not.

He opens the door, slides out of the truck, leans against the side and gives Neil a small wave, because he's just not sure what else to do.

He's not sure what he thinks he's doing here, anyway.

[little_moons]

"Did he just wave?" Preston asks, openly delighted by whatever the fuck he thinks he's stumbled into. I can imagine it now, his fuckin' romantic notions, and I'm sure he's already come up with a backstory, a fucking first meeting, a goddamn fairy-tale. I cut him a look, mutter, "Shut the fuck up, Eric," and start walking toward the truck.

Halfway there, I turn back toward Preston and that ugly little Gremlin, bark out a warning, "Stay there!" because I know him, and I know that if he could get away with it, he'd be inching closer to listen in.

"What the fuck?" I say, once Mike's within earshot.

[m_pinocchio]

Yeah, I dunno. He half shrugs, leaning back against the cab, hands in his pockets and feeling absurdly like an awkward teenager all over again, and he can't decide if that little feature makes this whole situation weirder or not. He glances up at the ugly little car again, the kid inside it, back at Neil.

"I'm leaving," he says. "A week. Texas."