February 6, 1991
I feel my head slump forward and the comfort of my eyelids closing.
A brief moment of silence before my neck snaps up and my eyes refocus.
The buzz of my surroundings fills my ears again and I wonder how long it's been since I woke up.
I check the clock on the wall, 11:47. Almost 16 hours since I crawled out of bed at the motel and started walking.
While massaging my calves I wave the waiter down and ask for another glass of milk.
My slice of mudpie looks dejected, half slumped over and unfinished.
At least I can focus on eating that until I get up the energy to start looking for somewhere to stay.
My milk arrives and I take a satisfying gulp.
As i go to set my glass back down, the cold moisture on the surface is too much for my weak trembling fingers, it
slips out of my hand and topples across the table and onto the floor. Fuck. I need to get some real food into me.
I quickly pull 6 bucks out of my pocket and throw it on the table. The truckers and giddy teenagers throw me
glances as I fumble with my coat and walk out the door into the crisp night air. My shadow stretches out in front
me as I watch my feet go, gathering flecks of snow on my laces. The slice of mudpie lies among the pools of milk
dripping onto the floor. Dejected.