At last the sun starts rising. Things are finally brightening up. But not for long. Because now I can see the car I stole is pink. Just my luck.

The other folks on the road honk or wave at me. I wave back at them because I can’t think of a better thing to do. I’ve crossed the State line into Indiana. I’m not sure whether this means I have escaped or have become a federal case. But no matter what, I need to lose this hippie car fast.

NOGALES, MI BY HENK HOPMAN 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 34

I’ve been running all night. After an hour or so I took this dirt track that led me away from the highway into the hills. Not that there was any risk of a car stopping and offering me a lift. A running man in the dark only makes drivers hit the gas and grab their cell phones. 911. Speed dial.

I need to rest. It’s pitch dark and I have no clue where to go from here. All around me there are trees with birds in them that say boo. Some screech and gurgle as if they’re being garrotted.

I need to catch my breath, to sort things out in my head. Gotta think straight. There no way to go but straight.

The last things I can remember are Billy-Bob screamin…