Eris's POV:
The rumble of my engine fills the small cab as I navigate the desolate stretch of highway. The only source of light comes from the flickering dashboard, casting eerie shadows across my worn face. I adjust my calloused hands on the steering wheel, my grip tight, accustomed to the roughness of the road. My tired eyes fixed on the road ahead, searching for any sign of the truck stop I'm headed towards.
As I approach the truck stop, I see a faint glow on the horizon that grows brighter with each passing moment. I felt a surge of relief wash over me as I realized that I'm almost there.
Pulling into the parking lot, I cut the ignition and climbed out onto the uneven concrete. I'm greeted by the scent of diesel fuel and the faint aroma of greasy food wafting from the only diner still open at this hour.
Stretching my aching muscles, I look around. The truck stop is empty, save for one old beat-up pickup truck with no plate number, odd I thought but not the oddest thing I've seen from my years on the road.
I sigh, appreciating the silence with the only sound coming from the buzzing of the neon lights. I check my watch, it's 2 am, and I'm glad to finally be able to take a break.
With the undercurrent of tiredness tugging at my weary body, I make my way towards the neon-lit diner. The door swings open, and the buzz of conversation and clinking dishes fills my ears. The hushed whispers and laughter provide an odd sense of comfort.
I find an empty booth near the window and sink into the cracked leather seat. The smell of brewing coffee fills my nostrils, and I catch a glimpse of the waitress, a tired smile tugging at the corners of her worn face. I nod in acknowledgement, and she scurries over, pad in hand, ready to take my order.
"Evening, hon. What can I get ya?" she asks wearily, her eyes heavy with exhaustion.
"Just a black coffee, please," I reply, my voice gravelly from hours on the road.
She scribbles it down and shuffles away, disappearing into the bustling crowd. Leaning back in my seat, I let out a deep sigh and take in the sights and sounds of the truck stop.
It's a familiar scene, one I've encountered countless times before. The worn-out booths and sticky tables, the garish neon signs plastered on the walls, the faint smell of grease and fryer oil.
As I wait for my coffee to arrive, I let my gaze wander around the diner, taking in the odd details of this particular truck stop. A faded poster on the wall advertising a country music concert from the 80s. A battered jukebox in the corner, its buttons worn smooth from years of use. A vending machine selling a mix of snacks and toiletries.
The waitress returns with my coffee, setting it down on the table with a clink. I take a sip, welcoming the warmth spreading through my chest. The hours of driving have left me feeling numb, but the hot beverage gives my tired body a small boost of energy.
For the next few minutes, I sit in silence, nursing my coffee and watching the world around me. I can feel the exhaustion weighing heavily on my body. My eyes are drooping and my mind is foggy, making it hard to think. Between the coffee and sleep, sleep is taking the lead.
As I finish my coffee and stand up to leave, pI hear a loud commotion coming from the entrance. I turn my head towards the noise, my curiosity piqued. A group of rowdy-looking men have just stumbled through the door, laughing and hollering as they make their way towards the counter.
I tense up, my instincts telling me that trouble might be brewing. It's best to get outta dodge so I reach for my jacket and quickly slip it on. As I make my way towards the door, one of the rowdy men bumps into me, nearly knocking me off balance. He smells of alcohol and a dangerous glint gleams in his eyes.
YOU ARE READING
The Way To You - ENGLOT
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