Thursday, The 13th
Late Afternoon
THE PICKUP SERVED SCOTT NICELY, THE ENGINE CATCHING IN the right places so that he could cruise at comfortable speeds without worrying about any cruise control function he typically avoided on vehicles. There was a country mile’s worth of difference between the air conditioning he felt now and the mediocre one he had left behind. Most importantly, it was running and pulling him into the final American point of his journey. The city was heavy with cement and sweltered because of it, the roads open and ugly, and littered with automobiles of the spoiled and suspicious. No particular place in mind, Scott took turns on a whim and followed any kind of flow he felt.
Eventually, he caught sight of what he needed: a motel. The motel was not the first he ha
