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struggled to get it down my dry
throat. I reached over to grab another and ate it equally as fast. I needed to
get something else to eat. I’d had way too many of the bars over the last
couple weeks and they were almost unpalatable to start with. Plus, I was a
growing young man; I needed more than that crap.
    The music faded on the stereo
until only static was left. I was very aware of the exhaustion overcoming me
and decided what I needed was something a little more upbeat anyways.
    I connected my phone to the black
wire coming out from the front of the stereo. The music player was by default
set at random and after a second the music started.
    Punk music was an indulgence I
stumbled across about six months prior. “I Wanna Be Sedated” had come on when I
was in a small café one evening somewhere in Wyoming and I loved it the instant
I heard it. At the time, the song had seemed somewhat familiar, but I didn’t
know it. It wasn’t the type of thing I usually heard on the radio while driving
at night.
    After asking the waitress, I
found out it was by the Ramones and sometime after that, I went online to
listen to other Ramones songs and from there other suggested bands. I started
downloading my favorites.
    I started with the early days of
punk with bands from the late 70’s/early 80’s and progressed into more modern
bands and other rock derivatives from there. Early punk was still my favorite
though. I love the Ramones and early Clash.
    It was the closest thing I had to
a hobby, besides crime fighting, and I allowed myself time here and there to
discover new music to add to my growing collection. I was up to twenty gigabytes
of music. It’s not like I didn’t have the time. I was pretty much always alone,
leaving myself plenty of time to search for and listen to music, read and watch
the endless catalog of movies I’d never seen. Anything I could do to occupy my
thoughts was better than being left alone with them.
    Something by the Clash began to play;
I couldn’t remember the name without looking down at the phone, which was no
surprise. I was bad at names, but knew the words. I sang along to each song,
belting out the lyrics as I continued on.
    On the outskirts of Missoula, I
decided to pull off the freeway and fill up my almost empty gas tank and past
empty stomach. There was a large truck stop right off the exit, marked with
yellow and red neon lights glowing in the still pre-morning darkness. I pulled
in and up to one of the empty fuel pumps and got out to fill the tank of my
beautiful 1986 Land Cruiser.
    The truck had several dents and
what was once white paint was now barely visible through the layer of dust. So
okay, it wasn’t exactly beautiful, but it ran well and I liked it. That’s all
that mattered. It had inner beauty.
    There aren’t many places that let
cash customers fill before paying anymore. That was a bit annoying since I was
always a cash only customer. Luckily, the place seemed to be an exception as it
let me start pumping before presenting any form of payment.
    As I pumped, I looked on towards
the slightly brightening clear sky and felt a cool breeze blowing through the
pump area. The combined aroma of petroleum and fried food filled my senses as
the wind carried the scents through the breezeway between vehicles. It wasn’t
the most pleasant of combinations, but the greasy food reminded my stomach
again it wanted something real. It had Choco-Exploded one too many times over
the past several days.
    When I was through filling up, I
went into the store. I used the facilities first before browsing for something
to eat and drink, hoping maybe caffeine and something consumed other than those
protein bars would help with my throbbing head. The truck stop wasn’t very busy
so early in the morning; there were only a few other customers in the store. I ended
up grabbing a large bottle of water, an energy drink and three packaged
sandwiches, taking my glorious bounty to the front of the store to