"I'm two-hundred-fifty pounds," Karas growled, elbows on the coffee shop counter.

Pat smirked. "You ain't been two-fifty since grade school."

"He don't see me?" Karas' angry glare fixed on the barista.

The barista pushed the bangs out of his eyes, handing a whipped frappuccino to a giggly teenage girl.

"What is it with these kids?" Karas looked up at the ceiling and shook his head. "Back in the day, when I was pumpin' gas, my manager would chew my ass if I didn't greet the next customer in line, 'Be right with you.' Now, they ignore you, like you're fuckin' invisible."

Pat shrugged. "Nobody gives a shit about customer service no more."

"If they spent half the time on basic interpersonal skills that they do on their goddamn phones..."

"Welcome to the human race." 

Karas hollered at the barista. "I know you see me, you little pencil-neck prick."

"Unless there's an emoji for 'pencil-neck prick,' you're not getting through."

########

Leaning against the McDonald's window, his swollen face grateful for the cool glass, Blake longed for the afternoons of boredom looking out at the rows of For Sale signs propped up on the windshields of cars he had little chance of selling. He caught his reflection when he straightened in his seat, a reflection of a face that appeared to have been carved into a potato.

He was so hungry that he couldn't find it in himself to keep running. He needed something in his belly besides pain. Nursing the remains of a large soft drink that he found in the parking lot, he eyed the customers nearby.

Two rambunctious kids climbed on the seat, playing with their Happy Meal toys while nibbling at their hamburgers. When they knocked their tray off the table, drinks toppling, their exasperated mother had had enough. She blotted the spill with a handful of napkins, tendrils of hair that had escaped from her messy bun dangled precariously, inches away from a close encounter with blobs of ketchup on the table.

Blake rose slowly, sauntering to the trash can near the exit. Despite loud protests, the frazzled mom herded her children toward the door, balancing the tray loaded with leftover food and twisted ketchup packets.

"Looks like you got your hands full," said Blake, offering to take her tray. She nodded warily at the bruised, wrinkled, unkempt stranger as she ushered her kids out of the restaurant.

Pretending to dump the tray's contents, he swiped two partially-eaten burgers and a container of fries, then crammed them into his pockets. He slipped through the door then crossed the parking lot to the SUV. He was barely inside the vehicle when he ravenously devoured the burger remnants.

When Alex's cell phone chimed, he recognized the incoming number. He checked the message, which read: Babe? Just got your message. Where are you?

It took a moment to register, then excitedly, he replied: Call me.

When the phone rang, apprehensively, he took the call, his cheek bulging with cold french fries. The sound of Rachel's voice accelerated his pulse. "Babe?... Chia?"

He didn't for a moment question how or why. It was Rachel and that's all that mattered. He swallowed. "Where are you?"

"I'm in Spartanburg. South Carolina. This isn't your phone number. Are you all right? How did you--"

"--Yeah, I'm okay. You okay?"

"I lost my charger. I didn't-- I've been so scared."

"I'm not far from Spartanburg," he said, his spirits lifted. "I'll call you when I get close."

"Oh, Babe." Her voice faltered. "It's so awesome to hear your voice."

"I'm on my way." He started the vehicle. Before he pulled out of the parking space, the phone chimed again. A text from Rachel brought a hopeful smile to his face: I love you.

His eyes shifted from Rachel's text to Alex's recent messages. Something familiar drew his attention. As Blake scrolled through Alex's texts, his brow furrowed. Then something in him broke.

########

Rachel dumped a bag of ice into the Motel 6 bathroom sink and then unbuttoned her shirt, discarding it onto the floor. She winced when she lowered her raw elbow into the ice. She stood, waiting for her elbow to numb, looking at the assorted supplies spread out on the counter; antiseptic wash, tweezers, gauze pads, butterfly bandages, and, of course, her Glock.

She raised her elbow from the ice and doused the wound with a splash of Bactine. She shoved a folded washcloth between her jaws and, watching in the mirror, positioned the tweezers just outside the wound. When a piece of auto glass caught the bathroom light, she identified the location of her target. Her arm jerked with pain when she penetrated the wound with the tweezers. She gathered herself and made another attempt. A muffled cry of anguish brought tears. She closed her eyes, took three deep breaths, then clamped her left hand on the sink faucet. She plunged the tweezers into the gash, her knees buckling, and withdrew the small nugget of greenish glass. One more piece of glass remained. She whimpered into the washcloth when she doused the wound with another splash of Bactine then went back to work.

Ten minutes of self-surgery felt interminable, but she'd succeeded. Scorching pain smoldered beneath the butterfly bandages that held the wound together.

She carried the Gamecocks jacket into the bathroom, laying it on the counter. She removed two stacks of cash from the pockets and set them on top of the toilet tank. Digging deeper into the pocket, she discovered the pack of cigarettes. She shook a cigarette loose from the pack then jammed it between her lips. The sensation of dry, tightly-rolled paper transported her.

Ashley opened the trailer's flimsy door, then descended the metal stairs barefoot in tight jeans and a crop top. "Evenin', fellas," she said to Tater and his friend, Willie.

Aunt Dina poked her head outside, displeased with Ashley's company. "Where you off to?... Ashley? And where are your shoes?!"

"Jus' taking in the night air," she replied.

"You can't be goin' around barefoot like some savage!"

"My shoes don't fit me."

"I just bought them shoes."

"A year ago."

Dina turned her head, eyes tilting toward the gray clouds stacking along the horizon looking so heavy they could fall out of the sky. "Could be rain comin' in. Said rain on the news."

"I wish it would."

"Don't you wander off too far with them boys, y'hear me?... And be home by nine."

Ashley and the boys chattered and giggled on their way down the open country roadside. She looked over her shoulder then asked, "Well, where you hiding the beer?"

Tater hung his head. "I couldn't get none."

"I knew it."

He brightened when he said, "But I brung cigarettes."

They followed him from the road down a slope of overgrown grass clogged with weeds to the edge of a stagnant copper-colored pond where silvery fish floated on the surface. Thin clouds of gnats hovered over the water buzzing angrily.

He produced a pack, offering one to Ashley. The boys each took a cigarette and fired them up. Tater lit Ashley's cigarette. She coughed.

"Don't inhale so deep," Tater said. "Just take a little bitty puff on it. Like this." He demonstrated.

Ashley was more successful with her next drag. "Maybe I won't smoke it. But I do like the way I look holding it." She posed with the cigarette.

"Yeah, you look real grown-up."

"Sure do," said Willie.

She took another small drag and scowled.

"Hey. Ashley," Tater said, looking at his shoes. "You wanna be my girlfriend or somethin'?

"What for?"

"So we can go together."

"Go where?"

"You know. Just around."

She shook her head.

"Well... can I maybe kiss you then?"

"What do I get out of it?"

"Huh?"

"Boys are wanting to kiss me all the time."

"Well." Tater lifted his chin. "I'm a good kisser."

"Who told you that? Your Momma?"

Willie laughed.