by Marcus Jonathan Chapman
He kicked the dust and shoved his hands into his jeans. She slammed the hood of the car down and dabbed at sweat on her forehead. Pulling a cigarette from a pack, she let it hang from her lips and crossed her arms on top of her head.
“Shit.” He kicked the dirt again, sending another cloud of dust toward her.
“It’s not the oil, she’s just an old car. We’ll wait for someone to drive by and hitch a ride. Relax.” She lit her cigarette and put her arms back on her head, her hands dangling on either side of her face.
He stared at the hair coming out of her armpits and curled up his nose. She caught his look of disgust and laughed.
“Bitch, what’s your problem?” She flicked the cigarette at him and pulled out a gun. He stepped back. She walked around the car, stopping at each tire to shoot a bullet into the rubber. The car sat lower now and the sun was getting higher.
“There’s two left in here.” She tapped the gun. “I’m not going to use one, so why don’t you shoot yourself twice and end your insecure, sniveling misery.” She tossed him the gun and turned around, grabbing her purse from the car.
He watched her walk down the road. Not a car passed until her image started shimmering and wavering with the heat coming off the asphalt.
A Peterbilt blew past him and the gun, stopping just after her image on the horizon.
“Fuck it.” he said.
Just before she shut the passenger side door of the Model 567, she heard two gun shots. She hoped for his sake he had not missed the second time.
“Did you hear that?” the trucker spat out his dip and pulled his cap lower. “Sounded like gunshots.”
“Nothing that dramatic, probably just some loser on the side of the highway putting an end to his misery.” She rolled down the window and rested her hand on the ledge.
“Where to?” the trucker shifted the rig into gear.
“Do you ever get engine troubles in this thing?” She pulled out another cigarette and pressed her red lips around the filter. She lit it and slipped the butt in between his lips.
“Sure, sometimes it can be a bitch.”
“Well, what about a ride along mechanic?”
Whilst making a living... 