convenience stores and tile floors

four [laurel]

A man outside just finished playing for his gas.

His arm looks strange. Half his head is shaved. He looks...tough. But not like he's gonna beat you up tough.

Like he's been through some shit.

Boy, do you understand that feeling.

But, those thoughts are for another time. You shove your anxiety-ridden thoughts to the back of your head as best as you can, at least enough to talk to the guy and get his money for whatever he buys.

He comes in through the glass door. His features are soft, yet rigid at the same time. What a combo. He grabs some snacks. A sandwich. Baby wipes, soda, band-aids, hand sanitizer, tissues. Some essentials, really, for a road trip.

You had been on a lot of those. You ran away from home a while ago.

So you drove.

And you ended up here, in whatever run-down place this is with a motel that oftentimes has rats.

You try and befriend the rats.

The lady next to you offers to serve the guy, but he walks to you instead. You're honored, maybe? Or just. Surprised. No one ever picks you. Your blue hair tends to make them think you're 17. You're a fucking adult, dammit.

He sets his stuff down. "How much will this be..." He looks at my nametag. "...Laurel?" He has a thick accent, but still understandable. It adds to his soft-rigidness. You smile. "That'll be $20 and some change. Shows right there on the li'l screen, sir."

"Sir. I like that."

"Well, we here like to treat our customers with respect."

He sighs. "Better get to doing that, yes. But, if you'd like, you can call me-" He pauses, realizing probably that you two won't see each other again. He frowns, and stops, grabbing his plastic bag of assorted shit and he gives you the money.

"Nah, tell me. What's your name? You know mine, I feel I should know yours. Someone as interesting as yourself, especially."

"Tord. And I'm not as interesting as you think."

"Okay, then. Cool arm, cool shaved head, cool Russian-" "-It's Norwegian." "...Norwegian accent. You seem pretty damn interesting to me."

You smile, and he smiles back.

"Have a good day, Laurel."

"And you too, Tord."

He walks out, getting into his car. He pulls out of the gas station spot, and starts to drive away. But then he stops. He stops on the side of the road (it was very dusty at this point, you could hardly see it) and just. Stays there. You don't know if he's coming back or not, or if that's his home.

You feel as though you should see. 

Maybe someone interesting did come in after all.