JACK-EYE
My left leg cramps for the fifth time in an hour. Fuck compact SUVs and their contempt for anyone over six feet tall. I shift, trying to find a position that doesn't feel like my knees are pressed against my throat, but there's no relief to be found in this rolling sardine can.
Dawn's coming, with weak pink and gold fingers creeping across the lightening sky.
And we're still on the highway.
No known destination, being driven by someone more likely to turn us into amphibians than answer questions.
We've been driving all night, and the mood in the car has settled from the aftermath of rage and deep sorrow into something fragile. Like if we breathe wrong, we might remember everything all over again.
