#here comes another python post

Even if it's a long haul across the emptiness of Kansas, surely he should have passed you or turned off by now. It's been hours, and even after stopping for snacks he had appeared behind you again, his bumper dangerously close to yours and keeping pace perfectly with your little sedan. Technically not illegal, but it makes your stomach churn with the fear of being overtaken. 

As it hits around the time the sun should set you decide to lose this creep, even if it puts you a day late on your trip to see the parents, better safe than sorry. You've been alone on the highway too long for comfort. 

You turn off quickly into a rest area and restaurant, one of many that dot the highways across the country. Its not what you were hoping for- the building is long shuttered, baring a sign over the front entrance- "we've moved! The Lucky J is now on exit 408". The parking lot is a loop- go out the way you came in, and you can hear the rumble of machinery as your highway buddy rolls up as well. 

You could risk trying to squeeze past, you could flee to the surrounding treeline where a truck can't reliably follow and he may not be able to tell which way you went, if you run fast enough. In the precious moments you have before the truck comes into view you leap out the door, hesitate, then circle the building to get more time out of sight and consider again bolting for the forest. 

But there, an exit door left hanging ajar, window smashed. Inside there's graffiti, magazines, empty beer bottles- in the time since Lucky J's closed its become a hotbed for teens. You move fast, through the shadows of a kitchen, to the also-ajar door of a defunct walk-in freezer. You slip in and pull it closed, surrounded by the scent of warm aluminum and the ghosts of frozen cube steak. 

"Don't worry!" reads the emergency handle inside the door. "You're not locked in."  

There's a moment where you wonder why you didn't call 911 before. You start to describe him- whispering quietly to the operator in the nearest town and fifty miles away that you're on exit 407, some truck driver has been following you, what little you can remember of his appearance from that careless occasional glance at a fellow diner- blonde hair and big hands. 

 Down the hall there's the crunch of broken window glass, a faint jingle of... spurs? And footsteps creeping down the hall. He's in no rush. Your car is blocked in. You've made this very easy. Silently, you know this too.

Despite it all, we stay cute

My first piece from the Star Command Catwalk Buzz Lightyear fanzine!