Sometimes he gets in his truck and drives. No destination in mind. No plan. No purpose. Sometimes heās gone for weeks, sometimes for months. He doesnāt know it but itās built into his DNA. The need to just take to the road and wander. Go where circumstances take him. And this time around they see him nearly across the country from where he started. Dead smack in the middle of east bumble nowhere, New Mexico.
He doesnāt mind it. Not really knowing where he is. Thatās half the point of trips like this. Finding places new to oneās self. Seeing whatās too be had, grabbing a job for a week or two and then moving on. Little towns are generally the best finds and heās just a few miles outside one, when he notices the vehicle pulled over on the shoulder.
A cloud rising out of the open hood. Heat waves in the air distorting the form hunched over it. Back to the highway. And the itch to stop doesnāt really hit him until after heās passed them by. The conscience his mother had given him, tugging at the collar of his shirt, like she used to when heād forgotten something in his hurry to get out the door.
Itās breathed, amid his eyes finding the ceiling. The wheel of his truck rotated just enough to work his way onto the shoulder. Throwing it into park and switching off the engine. Another second and heās climbing out. Shuffling back towards the the guy thatās having engine trouble in probably one of the worst places to have engine trouble. Itās gotta be at least a hundred and two by the feel of the air on his skin.
Bastian stops a respectful distance away, hands shoved into the pockets of over worn jeans. The drawl in his voice lazy, and not at all reflective of where he comes from.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āYa need help?ā