Roy

The old Kenworth pulled into the truck-stop and coughed itself to a clumsy stop, the engine convulsing when Roy jerked the key from the ignition. With a creak and a whirl, the door came open and Roy leaped down the two steps, boots scraping the gravel, door slamming shut behind him. There was no need to lock it.

He pulled his hat down low over his eyes, head down, picking out individual rocks of the loosely strewn parking lot. It was windy and he kept his hands apockets, his collar turned up, his shoulders hunched over.

"Hey Mae," he said as he opened the glass door to Joey's Truck Stop. "Long time."

"Not long enough," the waitress/cashier said. Her eyes turned to slits at the sight of him, her gum popping in her mouth. The streetlight came through the dirty blinds and shone through her dishwater hair, piled high on her head and teased with a can of Aqua Net Gold. She looked down at the old man at the booth and smiled, soothingly. "Not to worry, Mr. Higgins. I'm sure this ragamuffin will be leaving shortly. Won't you Roy?" She didn't look up to catch his reaction.

"Look, I just want a cup of coffee. Black."

"Didn't ask what you wanted, Roy."

"You sayin' I can't get a cup of Joe at Joey's?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying."

"That ain't right. That ain't right at all. Get Joe. He knows me. He'll tell ya."

"Oh, I know you, Roy. Don't you worry about that. And as for Joey, he's dead. I run this place. You want him, you can go to hell and fetch him." Roy looked slack-jawed and wide-eyed, rocking back on his heels. After a moment, he closed his mouth and wiped it with the back of his jacket, turned back to the door and put his hand on the cold handle.

"Well, you have my condolences." The bell jingled and he was back in the darkness, the wind taking his tears.