The lad woke up, looked around, and breathed a deep sigh of relief. It had been a long ride; how long had he been holding his breath?
Was he in any control; had he been in any?
The drive to survive, to use every tool; to manipulate, to lie, to fiegn an entire persona; for what?
The cheeseburgers had been too far and in between. Now it was death that obscured his vision. His vision; his vision going, tainted and blurred. Once upon a time he saw that corner, that corner that lies at the end of the world, and wondered if the corner was before or aft. Did it really matter?
Rolling over he squinted out the window. At least there was a road. Out and into the morn. Through a break in the fog, the lad planted a foot on the path. Pain, disease, apathy, shot up from toe to head.
Where had the search gone awry? Was the will of existence exerting authority over a simple drive through the villages and burgs and towns and cities? Maybe it wasn't the cheeseburgers in the villages, burgs, towns and cities; maybe it was the country in between?
But, it was all about the cheeseburgers. Without, there'd be no search, no country, no village, burg, town, or city. The next step, steadier. The familiar crushing burn, noticed but tolerated; may I have another?
Was there a journey in his youth? Was he still in his youth? How old had he allowed himself to become? Dare he glance over his shoulder? What good would it do? The drive to spin his head, to run backwards, to seek advice from a dead person. Damn, he was tired already. Focus, straight ahead. Put the past back on the shelf. Why hadn't he burned it? What was there he needed to hold onto? Hope, youth, love, honesty, freedom?
The quest for the perfect cheeseburger was unacknowledged. Freedom had been emblazened as his path by his words. Astray from the road, carcass in the ditch.
The lad blinked, he had arrived somewhere. Somewhere they had cheeseburgers; may I have another?
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