That idea. . . like a trainwreck, you can't look away.

She must have been just waiting there. Watching everyone come in to the parking lot, run in to buy cigarettes and be on their way. She was waiting to surprise someone; she just had to figure out who it was first.

I pulled into the gas station, and rounded myself in for a coffee. I'm not much of a morning person, but I make do when I've had a little bit of caffeine in me.

I've had enough of the long nights. I really need to get to bed sooner.

I talk to myself occasionally, and sometimes people take notice. I'm not trying to start conversations, maybe I am just making excuses for my morning routines. Reassuring myself by telling others that aren't even paying attention. Aren't even there.

No action for you then, i guess. I sleep like a baby afterwards.

I wasn't looking for a response. I just needed to admit my insomnia out loud.

I can't sleep either when I haven't had some in a while.

She wasn't looking for a response, either, just admitting her attitude to herself. I didn't look up at her either. I didn't want to know what she looked like.

I went inside. I left the truck running because it doesn't seem to want to start back up easily when I've turned it off so soon. I need to get that looked at. Usual. Coffee. Pack of sugar-free gum.

I came back to the car without interruption from meaningless loud thoughts- got in the car and rubbed my hands together, thinking that the cold has come sooner this year.

Mind sharing a piece of that gum?

I looked at her this time. Only because she was sitting in the passenger seat. And I could smell her. She had that musky scent, like a snuffed out candle whose smoke gets trapped in the room with the door closed; or like an air conditioning vent that has been turned on and opened after the winter is over. I just stared at her. She was the biggest form of wreck imaginable. Something about the way that she sat was like watching a dog in heat. You're sympathetic, but almost disturbed by the animal needing attention in the most carnal sense. She had her feet on the dashboard- ratty brown boots, with woolen knee high socks that crinkled down at different heights on each leg. She had a floral patterned skirt that hung just above her knees, falling further above them as her knees bounced back and forth against each other- knees apart, knees together, knees apart- until her entire leg was visible. The rest of her bundled up for the cold- one of those jackets that looks like a burnt marshmallow, with the god-awful faux fur that never looks real nor clean buried her to her waist.

I just unwrapped the gum and gave her a piece. She smiled at me as she folded the stick of gum in half then stuck it in her mouth. I watched her as she sucked on the piece of gum, flattening it against the roof of her mouth with her tongue, then prying it away again. she did this a few more times before starting to chew. She chewed to the side with her mouth half hung open on the opposite side.

So are we going to work, or coming home from it?

I lied. I told her coming home.

Good. I need some breakfast.

I didn't invite you. Where did you come from anyway?

Your worst laid plans. She answered.

I didn't say anything, I just pushed the truck into reverse and slowly started to drive.

Do you want to know my name?

I still couldn't muster up anything to say to her. I didn't want her in my truck, really. But I had already intended on skipping work today, I just couldn't make for myself an appropriate excuse. I hadn't missed a day of work in over 5 years, and for some reason, thought I needed an excuse out of the usual stomach flu or funeral. Not for anyone else's benefit. For my own.

Just call me Karen.

Her name wasn't Karen.