Golden Greaser

- 5 -

     The coolness of the Oklahoma autumnal breeze cools my flushed cheeks as I make my way down the cracked sidewalk leading to town.

     My determination drives me. Fuels me. Gives me energy when exhaustion seemed more prevalent than sleep.

    Determination had a way of doing that to you, making you crazy and turning your willpower into a blasting overdrive.

    It'll make you do crazy things. Like hunger. Hunger will make you search for the food, turning you into an insane animal in a matter of days if you never find it. It'll close out all the other thoughts, zeroing in on the one, simple notion. I'm hungry.

    Determination was like that.

     It numbed your mind and fueled only certain parts. The parts that were needed were sharp and poised, ready for anything.

    That's what I liked. I could focus on the task at hand, and not having the almost constant, merciless, worry biting at my thoughts.

     The wind blows my frizzy, black hair all into my eyes as I stride down the sidewalk. 

     I round the first corner, looking over every sign and window decal at least twice before letting my eyes move to a different set of buildings.

     No. Nope. Nothing.

     I zip up my faithful leather jacket enough to block the increasing wind. It had been one of the jackets my mom had left behind when she walked out, and I only wore it because it was practically the warmest thing I owned.

     I go back to searching the buildings.

      Old-timerz Bingo.

      24/7 Diner, OPEN ALL NIGHT.

     Shamar's Deli and Bakery.

     I round another corner. 

     Please, I beg to that silent being in your brain that never answers you back. Please. Please, let me find something.

     Nothing but the theatre and a few other ice cream parlors.

     I stop for a moment, trying not to lose focus. I couldn't afford that. Not at this point in the game.

     Rounding the different colored corners of Tulsa, I end up near one of the railyards on the east side. 

     I'm getting absolutely nowhere. 

     I run my hands through my hair, relinquishing the air from my lungs. 

      But as I continue to walk, wandering along the beat-up asphalt for a while, I begin to think this is becoming a lost cause.

     The signs around me read:

     Bar and Pool Hall: THIS WAY. 

     Grimes Detail Shop and Motorcycle.

      And then there was the DX.

     That could work. 

      Mechanics are smart, right?

      "Uh, hello?" I ask the empty space, pushing open the small doors into the gas station.

       The door pops behind me as I walk up the counter, craning my neck to see if there was anyone behind it. No one to be seen but snacks and a few coolers.