Trucker Storyteller

I didn't stop until I hit the lights of Lamford, pulled into a gas station that was still open and parked into the brightest lights I could find.

Got out, walked a lap around the cab to make sure I wasn't just losing it.

That's when I saw it.

A single boot print on the passenger step.

Dusty, it's all lead fresh.

Just one.

No second print next to it.

No smear.

Just one perfect mark.

Like someone stood there on one leg the whole time.

I didn't sleep at night, just sat inside the station for a while, drinking awful coffee and staring at the walls.

I called my buddy Benji the next morning.

He runs the same routes I do and told him I needed him to meet me out there.

He thought I'd clipped a deal or something.

I didn't tell him everything on the phone.

We met up around noon and drove back to the same turnout.

Gravel was a mess, all kicked up and scattered from when I tore out.

Benji gave me a weird look, like maybe I'd fallen asleep and dreamed the whole thing, but I hadn't.

I hadn't even been close.

About two weeks later, I was eating breakfast at Lonnie's Cafe in Grafton.