Running out of Gas

It’s early in the morning. A new day is supposed to be a fresh start, right? I peer through the windshield and squint at the overly cheerful sunshine that burns through the cracks in the trees.
I push the button and the window lowers. I inhale the woody taste of earth and pine. The smell tickles the back of my throat and I cough a little.
I feel groggy and slow to wake up. The back of neck is a rocky landscape that needs grooming. Trying to relieve the tension in my hands I extend and flex.
The car dings again as I turn the battery on. The gas gauge still says empty.
I look at my phone and clearly see 7:00 am taunting me. For some, this is the
hour to begin their day’s pursuits. For me, 7:00 am is the end of a triumphant night and time to head to bed. “You’re too old to keep rock and roll hours” I chide myself. Maybe, but keeping those late night hours is one of those bad habits I never broke.
I have been driving all night. Somehow I missed the turn. Went off course and fucked it up again.
The rental car smells. It’s remnants reek of prior occupants. Clues to lives left behind. What did the last people do in this car? Fast food wrappers and beach sand. Greasy palm prints on the windows.
I have no idea where I am. I thought I knew where I was going but somehow I ended up here and it’s a dead-end. It’s time to turn around now.

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