She stopped several blocks away from where she dropped off the water-bottle guard to fill up the tank of the bus at the nearest gas station. She tried to open up the metal box, but no matter what she did it wouldn't open. She tried a crowbar that was in the bus's storage area and attempted to beat the lock and then pry it open, and tried to cut it open by forming water into ice again to slice the lock, but she couldn't even move a single drop of water. In a fit of frustration, she had even tried slamming it to the ground several times over, which caught the attention of several people nearby. No matter what she had tried to do it would not open, and she had finally just given in.
The bus was low on gas and she knew she wasn't far from the guard. She didn't want to see him again after dropping him off on a sidewalk to try and find his own way around. He didn't even have money with him, what was he supposed to do? What is he going to do? She picked up the box and went back into the bus, started it up, and continued on down the road.
After another twenty or so miles, the bus had finally run out of gas and she stopped it at the side of the road. She had made it into another town and there seemed little to no chance of seeing the guard again,unless he had gotten a ride somehow, which she thought might be a good thing, at least for him. How would he get a ride in the first place? What am I thinking.
The town was a lot less clean than the one she dropped the guard off at: litter and food on the sidewalks, deadly looking cracks, crack pots, shady looking people walking all about who just looked liked they smelled bad and musky, rats running along the side of brick walls in alley ways, a cat chasing them about here and there, a child who looked to have been born in rags, the stench of decaying food wafting up from every corner, and the smell of old beer and bile reeking the streets. It wasn't somewhere she would have preferred to stop at, but it was better than any other place – like to be stuck in the middle of a desert or in the middle of a long highway without the nearest town in sight. Well, maybe it was better. At least there were places to get food. Speaking of food... I haven't eaten anything for some time now. Damn, I'm hungry. When was the last time I had even eaten? Not far from her was what looked to be a restaurant, but when she went over to go look inside, it was dark and dusty and filled with cobwebs. Just another block down was a bar that had the “open” sign lightened up with a few people hanging around outside the doors. She didn't think she could get anything from there considering she didn't have any money, and she didn't want to go in to a place with people who looked like them hanging outside a bar's doors – more small, beedy eyed, ragged people. Looking around the block and seeing only empty places, she decided she didn't have much choice but to go into the bar. She began her way in.
Inside the lights were dreary and had no real life to them. It was noon at this time, around the typical city lunch hour, but few people were around eating. They more so drinking the days away. There was an old man sitting at a corner table, wearing a ragged, leather hat and old, dark blue jeans. His face looked like it had been days since it had been shaven, white and tough skin and white scrawny hair, a beer being held tightly in his right hand. Another man was standing near an old out of order jukebox. He was leaning against it, his head hung low, hands on each side, looking at the jukebox. He reminded her of a song, Jukebox Hero by Foreigner. He didn't look like no hero, but leaning against a jukebox, “with his head hung low,” was sufficient enough to conjure the music to mind. The song played through her head. There was also a couple men sitting on bar stools, both slouching where they sat, several seats away from each other, not a word being passed around. In a darker corner just behind the door she came through was another man sitting on a tall stool behind a tall, round table. His hat was drawn down over his eyes and his head was hung lowly, looking like he was possibly asleep. He was barely able to be seen underneath those shadows cast over him.
