Constance thought she could finally stop looking over her shoulder. She has a steady job as a hairstylist, rents a small apartment next door to her best friend, and keeps a routine that distracts her just enough to not have to dwell on her past.
All...
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My legs would probably be killing me by now if I could still feel them. I'm not exactly sure at what point they became numb, but I do know that exactly three minutes and twenty-nine seconds ago I lost all feeling from the knees down.
I suppose that's what happens when you walk the entire distance of the state of Texas in less than a week.
Cars zoom by like they're auditioning for the Fast and Furious, paying no attention to the filthy homeless man walking alongside the highway. I don't offer my thumb to them, and they don't stop for me; it's a mutual discomfort.
Speaking of discomfort, my beard is scratching at my shirt collar and my pants are caked in mud from sleeping under the highway last night but that's not even the worst of it. No, it's the horrible smell that's been following me around for days that completes my image. It reminds me of that dirty cop's breath back in Atlanta, but I don't have time to question its origins. This is Texas, after all. Sweating isn't optional.
I can't remember a time when I was ever more grossed out by myself than I am now. For almost a month I've refused to look at my reflection because I know it'll make me realize how far I've fallen. I keep telling myself it'll just be a little longer until my life can go back to normal, until everything is fixed but it's been seven months now.
Seven. Whole. Months.
My options are running out the more time passes by and at this point I'm almost ready for the FBI to catch me. Almost.
I've come to the realization that I can't fight against them on their territory where they have the advantage which is exactly why Brownsville, Texas is my destination. A city bordering Mexico for an easy escape if needed is as perfect as my situation can get.
The road sign says I'm only fifty miles from my destination, so I have to find a place to sleep the night; preferably a trash free place.
Judging by the position of the sun, I assume it's close to four pm which means I have an hour to make it to the next truck stop. The twins can only misdirect the call for so long and they have to have it set up before I call which means, if I want to get anything out of our conversations, I have to be punctual.
When the next exit arrives, I take it.
I walk down the ramp and across the street into a busy strip center. There are families shopping, groups of women carrying every kind of name brand bag you can imagine and I'm getting sideways looks from them all. Every single one of them wears a look as if they're disgusted to be in the same vicinity as me.
Me too, buddy. Me too.
If only they knew the truth behind my appearance. I may look homeless, but I probably have more money than all of them combined.
