Turas

California

Osheen wouldn't stop fiddling with the radio. Voices snapped in mid conversation, a second of silence, then over produced synthesized sound blared only to be interrupted as the young man punched the button again and again.

"Jaysus, that's fucking annoying." Finn snapped finally. "Could you just pick one?"

"But I want to hear what's on all the different channels," Osheen kept tapping the button.

"You're going to make me crash."

"How?" Osheen gave the button one final infuriating push, and Finn risked a glance off of the road to shoot a glare.

"Stop that!"

Osheen sat on his hands, snickering.

"Wee shit," Finn grumbled. "Nothing sounds good, anyway, anymore. Not like music used to be."

Osheen rolled his eyes.

When they pulled into a gas station, Osheen ran inside, letting Finn struggle with the gas pump.

He stood in front of it, looked around. The only other car was pulled in at the pump in front of him, a woman in her thirties busying herself while muffled sounds of yelling children hit the tinted windows. She seemed resignedly inured to it.

Self conscious, Finn watched her, tried to copy her movements. When it came time to use the plastic card he'd found in his pocket, he swiped it, then stood blankly when the small olive grey screen asked for numbers.

"For fuck's sake," he muttered. He tapped some numbers he'd typed before, hoped they were supposed to be the same. To his intense relief, it seemed to take, and he imitated the woman and let the nozzle pump gas. He leaned on the car, proud of himself.

When it was finished, he looked up to see Osheen in the gas station window, waving like a madman. Finn stifled a sigh and walked in, the door ringing with a cheer that didn't match the overall feel of the stale inside.

"They've got 'em!" Osheen hissed excitedly, shaking electric red plastic bags with sickening orange triangles displayed vividly across the front. "Come'on, we've got to get some,"

Finn wrinkled his nose. "Those?"

"And these," Osheen shoved a blue package of double stuff oreos under his nose. "Come'on, these are fuckin A."

"'Fuckin A?' Christ, who says that? Put those things back, they're not food."

"Are you kidding? That's all they are. You've just never had them!"

"And when, pray tell, did you?"

"Just try them," Osheen ripped open the red bag, shook it at Finn, who continued to look proudly unimpressed. Carefully, he pulled out a cracked orange triangle, frowning at the orange dust.

"Oh come off it, you've never been one to turn down sloppy food."

"Mind yourself," Finn muttered sternly, obliged and put it in his mouth. Osheen laughed with smug delight when he couldn't hide a moment of surprised pleasure.

"See? They're fuckin A!"

"Stop saying that," Finn said, grabbing another.

"Try these then, too," Osheen opened the oreos. Finn licked his fingers, took one.

"Christ! Get another pack of those," he ordered, throwing the other half into his mouth.

Osheen laughed again, grabbed two more, started reaching for another bag of doritos.

"Hey! HEY!" the young man behind the counter shouted, catching sight of the two men in the domed mirror. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"We already paid for the gas," Osheen waved a hand.

"You've got to pay for those too, dumbass! Do you live under a rock?" the man was two steps from quitting, his voice sharp.

"In a manner of speaking," Osheen muttered. Finn cuffed him over the head.

"Respect the tradesmen, wee pup. Grab a handful of the meat there, too." Finn pointed at a jar of slim jims absently while studying the glass case of sodas. "You take many drinks when you had a chance at doritos?"

"Root beer. Take more'n one." Osheen said, taking fistfuls of slim jims and jerky.

They made their escape, the mounds of brightly colored packages spread across the seat in the back.

Osheen settled on a station. Finn sighed heavily through his nostrils, but Osheen saw him nod his head just barely to the music.

"All sounds the same. Just noise," Finn complained.

"You like it, though," Osheen said, smiling with satisfaction while he chomped on a handful of doritos. Finn narrowed his eyes with disapproval at Osheen's orange hand.

"Give me something to move to, something I can hear and know the musician and the instrument." Finn said, his grey eyes sliding back to the road.

Osheen heard the moodiness in Finn's voice, and frowned.

"This ain't so bad," he said, busying himself with licking the orange dust off his fingers.

Finn didn't reply, and Osheen turned the music off.