Racing through the inky blackness of the Arizona desert at around 1:00 a.m., there was no question in Andrew's mind that the weekend had been a mistake.
To be fair, many weekend trips to Las Vegas could be categorized as "mistakes". But this hadn't been the kind of mistake to fondly reminisce over, years later. Not the kind of mistake that made for a humorous anecdote to tell at a party. No, the weekend had been a mistake simply because nothing exciting had happened at all.
The whole thing had been Mark's idea. An old friend from college, Mark had always had grand ideas that never seemed to play out. Implausible schemes for getting laid. Half-baked plans to get rich quick. "Epic" road trips to destinations that had long gone out of business. Things like that.
His latest plan had involved trying to pick up strippers.
Strippers
! Andrew was no master pickup artist himself but even he knew that this was a stupid plan. But, having not seen his friend in a few years, he had agreed to join him, out of a sense of obligation more than anything else.
Needless to say, their evening had cost them hundreds of dollars each and had left them painfully unsatisfied.
A more pressing reason for regretting the trip was the timing. Andrew had to work the coming Monday and lived about 6 hours away in the podunk town of Gallup, New Mexico. Mark lived in Vegas and had had no problem with keeping Andrew for a late dinner on Sunday night. As it stood, he should be getting home around 2:00 a.m., leaving him barely 4 hours of sleep before he had to get up for work the coming morning.
Andrew wasn't sure he could make it much further. He had run on little sleep the whole weekend and the lonely desert highway was lulling him to sleep. During the day, the red mesas of eastern Arizona and western New Mexico were spectacular sights. But at night the darkness, unbroken by the lights of town or even other motorists, was total. It gave a sense of grave isolation. The world seemed like it ended just beyond the illumination of the car's headlights.
He found himself thinking back on the strip club and the strippers. Again, although nothing had come of it, he did remember one in particular by the name of "Cheryl". If her tits were implants then the surgeon deserved an award because they had been the most bouncy, natural-looking large breasts that he had ever seen (in person, at least).
He fantasized about squeezing them, the way she had squeezed them herself on stage. He imagined their soft warmth, smoothness interrupted only by the rough edges of pert nipples. In his mind, he felt their weight in his hands as he plunged his head between them, breathing in the heady aroma of sweat and perfume.
The honking of a car horn snapped him out of his reverie and he swerved his car to the right to avoid colliding with an oncoming pickup truck.
His heart was racing and he focused on the darkness before him. No more oncoming cars. Still, it had been close--the truck had seemingly come out of nowhere. He needed something else to keep himself awake. He glanced down at the car's clock. 1:15. Still almost an hour of driving! He contemplated pulling the car over on the side of the road to catch a few hours of sleep. But the idea of doing this made him uneasy. Semi trucks were known to drift in their lanes on this highway. It would only take one of them edging over to the shoulder just a bit at just the right time... He didn't want to think about it. More importantly, he wasn't sure if he could even fall asleep with worries like that in his head.
He wracked his brain trying to think of any stops between his current location and Gallup. There was one right outside of the town but nothing of note before that. Or was there? He thought he remembered passing a lone gas station on his way out of town. He hadn't passed it yet so it might be coming up soon.
Miraculously, after a slight turn in the road, a light appeared in the distance. That must be the gas station! Gripping the wheel, he sped onward, trying to decide whether sleep or coffee sounded better.
He slowed as he approached the station. Something seemed wrong. As he pulled up to the storefront, it became obvious to him: although the tall streetlights around the parking lot were on, the station itself was closed. With hot coffee no longer an option, he decided to settle down for a nap. He was shifting in his seat, trying to get comfortable before shutting off the car when he was startled by a knocking at the passenger-side window.
Andrew jolted back in his seat, elbowing the horn lightly. With the bejesus thoroughly scared out of him, he turned to his right to see who was, in his mind, about to murder him.
His fears subsided quickly. Peering into his car from a few feet away was a scrawny-looking woman with pale skin and ruffled-looking black hair. She was wearing a black t-shirt and tight jeans and, overall, looked quite disheveled. Not homeless-desert-woman disheveled. More like, haven't-slept-in-days disheveled. Which, honestly, was probably the same look that he was rocking at the moment.
As he was processing this, she started to make a cranking motion with her arm. It took his sleep-deprived brain a moment to recognize the gesture, but when he did, he turned down the passenger side window.
"I know they don't make cars with crank windows anymore," she explained, leaning on the door, her head now mostly inside the car. Her voice had an unexpected energetic snappiness to it. "But I figured this," she paused and stood back, making a button-pressing motion, "wouldn't quite cut it."
Andrew was at a loss for words.
"Sorry I startled you," she leaned back into the car. She smelled like cigarette smoke and the desert air. "Are you headed to Albuquerque?"
"Sorry, no," he finally managed to get out. "Gallup, actually."
"Oh, perfect!," she perked up cheerfully. "Me too! I said Albuquerque because, come on, who lives in
Gallup
? Besides the two of us, of course. And Albuquerque's past Gallup, so anyone going to Albuquerque would have to pass through Gallup."
Normally, Andrew would never consider picking up a hitchhiker but it would seem that he had no choice. What was he going to do, fall asleep in the parking lot with her sitting outside? Plus, her energy was a little infectious--this might be what he needed to make it the rest of the way.
But there was still the element of danger. Just because she was a woman didn't mean that she couldn't shoot him, steal his car and leave him to the coyotes and vultures in the middle of the desert.
As if sensing his reluctance, she took a step back from the car.
"Don't worry, I'm not going to murder you or anything." She turned around slowly, patting herself down. Although her clothes were pretty tight-fitting, her overall figure was a far cry from that of Cheryl. "See? No guns, knives or explosives."
With what remained of his fears assuaged, Andrew unlocked the door and motioned for her enter. She excitedly climbed in and buckled up. Andrew put the car in reverse and maneuvered to re-enter the highway. Conversation would have to keep him awake.
"So, I don't mean to pry," he began cautiously, "but what brings you to an abandoned gas station so late at night?"
"My bitch of a friend, Tina," she replied flatly. "She was probably mad at me for something stupid, like fucking her boyfriend. Which I didn't even do--she's just paranoid about cheating because she has the worst taste in men."
Andrew really didn't know how to respond to that. Thankfully, she continued.
