All the Beautiful Sinners
“He was on the side of the road, close enough that the big trucks still rattled his dash. He had been making himself sleep, making himself wait for the gas station in Pawnee City to wake. The pump would take a card, but he was paying cash. But now there was a woman at his window, looking in, her hair dark around her narrow face, grey at the edges.
He blinked, she remained, and he said his sister’s name before he could stop himself, in his head.
It wasn’t her, though. Two years older than Jim Doe... wasn’t old enough to go grey. And anyway, she was Indian, wouldn’t go grey until after everybody else.
Behind her, strung out on the road, was her caravan. Ragged trucks with antennae sprouting out at odd angles, compact cars thick with laundry. A twenty-six foot Airstream camper with TAMBOURINE SKY stenciled on it in vivid blue, propane tanks clustered at the nose. Stormchasers.
Jim Doe stood, steadying himself up with the roof of the LeMans. It left dry crumbs of vinyl on his hand. He held his palm open and the crumbs lifted away.MoreLess
He blinked, she remained, and he said his sister’s name before he could stop himself, in his head.
It wasn’t her, though. Two years older than Jim Doe... wasn’t old enough to go grey. And anyway, she was Indian, wouldn’t go grey until after everybody else.
Behind her, strung out on the road, was her caravan. Ragged trucks with antennae sprouting out at odd angles, compact cars thick with laundry. A twenty-six foot Airstream camper with TAMBOURINE SKY stenciled on it in vivid blue, propane tanks clustered at the nose. Stormchasers.
Jim Doe stood, steadying himself up with the roof of the LeMans. It left dry crumbs of vinyl on his hand. He held his palm open and the crumbs lifted away.MoreLess
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