![]() ![]() Clenching his fists over his ears, silent sobs come over the hitchhiker in waves, wracking his thin body in its place on the floor. Shuts them tightly as his mouth opens wide and his body curls more tightly in on itself. As his shoulders rise and fall, then rise and fall again, he closes his eyes. His breath comes slow and big, with pauses after each breath out. He curls into a ball, his head against his backpack, and lays motionless on the ground. Reaching out an arm, he slowly closes the door to the storeroom. He notices lines of mold growing along the thin strip of laminate between the wall and drop ceiling, pulls his cheek from the wall, and sinks to his knees. Standing in the storeroom, the hitchhiker leans against the cinder block wall, his cheek against its coolness. You get this place ship shape while I restock the bar." Get one of those blue spray bottles and a couple dishrags. "Billy leaves this place a mess when he closes," the man says. He follows the man, who leaves the room and walks farther down the corridor, through a small kitchen and into the barroom, so different in the sober morning light, the dust visible on the beer signs and taps, the stains on the thin carpet covering the uneven, plywood-laid floor. The hitchhiker drops his pack, leans it against a pallet upended against the cinder block wall, and puts on an apron the man hands him. Kicking aside a mop bucket and pulling a string to illuminate the cramped space, the man tells the hitchhiker this is where he'll sleep. "We'll pay you at the end of the week," he says, leading the hitchhiker through an unlit tiled corridor to a small storage closet. Believe me, around here, there's plenty for you to do." Unlocking a deadbolt, the man swings open the back door. Stick around long enough, we'll make you a line cook. Nodding and rising, his eyes on the thin line of Interstate stretching north through the desert below and beyond him, the hitchhiker hefts his backpack off the ground and asks what work the man has. "So you must be taking me up on my offer from last night. An unkempt ponytail snakes out beneath the back of the hat and down the man's back. The man is dressed in jeans, a flannel shirt, and brown Stetson hat. Startled awake, his body still hunched behind the low building, his head hard against the building's bricks and his ass on the cold cement step, the hitchhiker looks up though the clear morning air at a man he recognizes from the night before. ![]()
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