![]() ![]() The wavering light shows their knuckles scraped raw. Their hands shake they try twice to spark the wheel and hold the flame steady. Only a pack of cigarettes with the edges dented soft, along with a cheap plastic lighter. They don’t want to look at what caused it. They’re afraid to peel it away they don’t want to look at the wound. They’re bleeding.Ī glance shows blood sticking the fabric of their shirt to their side. ![]() ![]() They climb out of the car, hissing a sharp breath of pain as they do. Jax slows the car, easing into a wide lot with trucks parked to one side, gas pumps in the middle, and a long, low building that is not a diner, or a convenience store, or anything discernable on the other side. The cusp of twilight is blue, bruised grey, then red where a lit sign like a fresh wound shines against the dark. ![]()
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