Trucker Storyteller

Its headlights were still off, but the engine was running now.

The whole rig looked like it was trembling.

Not violently, but stated like it was shivering under its own weight.

That same sick, uneven sound coming from under the hood as if it should have died already but didn't know how.

Then I saw someone climb out of the cab.

He stepped down slowly, real controlled.

Big guy, over six feet, easily broad shoulders, long arms.

He wore heavy canvas coat that hung past his knees, kind of greenish, with darker patches on the sleeves and around the collar like it had soaked through at some point.

He had on gloves too, leather ones worn down to the grain, more grey than black.

He didn't have a flashlight, no phone light either.

He just started walking toward the vending shelter with the kind of confidence you only have when you've been somewhere a thousand times.

Head straight, no hesitation, no stumbling on the gravel.

But the strange part, what made me straighten up in my seat, was how quiet he was.

I mean completely silent.

He should have made noise.

The gravel on the foot was loose and sharp.

I'd heard a crunch under my boots just getting in the cab.

But this guy?

Nothing.

Not a single scuffle scrape.