He walked in darkness. No streetlights, porchlights turned off, signal lights did not flash. There were no cars out. No Fords or Chevys taking girls home past curfew. And it was silent. No music, no noise. Only sounds of semis racing on the nearby highway that ran north and south, from Chicago to Terre Haute, carrying diesel, pigs, furniture, and people’s belongings. Sounds of air brakes in the distance. Motors ran on a truck stop lot. He walked towards the far-off noise; had nowhere else to go.

Lights from diesels danced on the highway. The young man waited for there to be a lull. He crossed cautiously. All those trucks lined up on a cold night. Kid saw it as an opportunity to get out of this small town. A town where everyone knew each other’s business but never spoke. Where living room lights went off at 10:00 and shades were drawn. A town in the summer filled with the smells of hamburgers on grills and cut grass. A place where you knew something wasn’t quite right. No fish ever came out of the pond. And though shots were heard in autumn, no one ever brought home a deer.

The youngster went from semi to semi knocking on doors; asking for a ride. Truckers would ask, where you going? The kid told them anywhere. Anywhere.

No one would take him. He sat in the diner, stirring coffee. Looking at the waitresses’ legs, watching the sun come up. Hoping he’d have better luck in the daylight.

His book bag became his pillow. Leaned it up against the glass and bent his body in the booth. Kid slept for twenty minutes, felt like an hour.

Can’t sleep here, a blonde server told him. Go on now. Get, she demanded; talking to him like a dog. She wiped down his table. The boy started to say something, but no words came to him. Just an awkward silence between them while Taylor Swift sang in the background. He walked out the door, and a bell rang.

Now, he was facing the highway again. He took a quarter from his pocket and flipped it. Heads. He was heading to Chicago. A hundred miles away.