I had the most vivid dream last night, Here it is recounted in story mode with some added elements, cause i got into it.

      You broke my nose!

      Yeah, well I am taking your car. Now get out.

      With that, I put my pistol back in my belt, unbuckled the driver, and gripped a large tuft of his hair.  He slipped out of the seat with ease and floated to the pavement as I pulled at his scalp.  Putting one foot on the chrome running board below the door and one hand on the steering wheel, I hoisted myself into the cream Toyota truck.  Before closing the door I looked down at the car’s old owner.  Rich blood flowed out of his flattened nose into his mouth and down across his cheeks.  The amber lenses of his glasses were shattered all around his eye sockets. 

      Don’t lay there too long.  I said as I left him blinded, writhing with pain in the frozen parking lot that belonged to a ghost of a grocery store.  It was mid morning and there would be few travelers along this highway all day.  The likelihood of a payphone in walking distance was slim.  I looked back through the driver’s side mirror before he was out of sight. The old man had not gotten to his feet yet.

      Driving this truck was harder than stealing it.  The frame swung so loose from the suspension that it felt as if the two parts would come apart at any second.  Every imperfection in the road made the top half of the car gyrate in a belly dancer like motion.  The interior was in no better condition.  The seats were cracked at the sides and at some earlier time had once imitated leather.  The steering wheel was worn into a slick shiny surface that was hard to grip while wearing gloves. 

      At least the heater worked well.  A few miles down the road I pulled over, took off my fur lined overcoat and set it on the passenger seat.  I stacked my gloves and pistol atop the jacket and sat the car for a minute. 

      The ashtray below the stereo was filled with crushed cigarettes.  I reached over to the glove compartment and found an old soft pack of Marlboros.  I slipped one of the loose cigarettes into my mouth, returned the pack to the glove compartment, and pulled back onto the highway.  I smoked with the windows up as I worked my way across desolate countryside.  It was a forsaken place in the wintertime, shedding itself of all color except for small glimpses of blue sky on a rare afternoon.  I traveled that frozen grey landscape all morning and the only life I saw was a flock of birds circling some frozen death beyond the tree line.

      I arrived at lonely service station around noon.  The car sunk as it took the five inch drop off of the asphalt onto the dirt floor surrounding the gas pumps.  Reaching into the glove compartment again, I grabbed the cigarettes, the gun and put on my overcoat.  I stepped out of the vehicle and met the attendant half way to the restaurant.  He was an older man and made no eye contact when I spoke to him.  He had the look of one who had been imprisoned to this place until he would no longer question his existence.

      Are you serving in the restaurant? I asked.

      They’re serving something.

      I’d like a fill up and check my tire pressure.

      I’ll bill you with your supper. Go on.

      Thank you. 

      I walked through the service shop and in the back a half flight of stairs lead to the dining area.  The room was quite large and housed seats for visitors that would never come.  I saw no one and sat myself.  Two voices came from the kitchen, a man and a woman. A two way door swung open around some corner at the other end of the room.  The woman pushed the door open with her back and was carrying a large tray where a solitary glass of water sat in its center.  

      There was some youth left to her physique, but her face was the mix of two distant generations.  The area around her sullen eyes was filled with creases and crow’s feet sat on either side of her eyes.  Below that, her cheeks and lips were full with life.  She gave me a fatigued smile as she set the water down on the paisley tablecloth.  I received a short stare from her before she smiled again and asked how I was doing.

      Fine. The highway’s quiet.

      We’re about the only two people making noise on it. She said.

      I guess that’s right.  Where’s the closest town to here?

      Well that would have to be Challis if you was headed south.

      That’s right. How far?

      I’d say at least a hundred miles.

      Alright then, what are you all serving for supper?

      Gravy ham steak with creamed spinach and roast potatoes.  Blueberry pie if you are interested.  It’s baking right now.

      Sounds fine, thank you.  I’ll take a slice after my meal. Could you bring me a coffee when you can as well?

      Sure thing. Supper will be up in a bit. 

      She winked and walked back to the swinging door and disappeared into the kitchen. I could hear the muffled vibrations of a conversation between the waitress and the chef.   She returned with the coffee as I was lighting a cigarette.  A new ashtray was brought over even though the one on my table was perfectly clean.  It was some kind of formality I never quite understood. 

      The coffee was bitter and needed sugar.  I drank the first cup and refilled with the pot she had left at the table.  What if there was a payphone? They could come any minute. No, the old man would probably die before he could contact anyone.  I would be fine. Eat your lunch.

      In fifteen minutes the waitress returned with her back against the door and brought supper to the table.  It was served on a white china plate with a thin blue line surrounding the outer rim.  The spinach tasted good; it was cooked with a rich cream for its base.

      Two men walked in midway through my meal and I looked up over my potatoes to greet their eyes.  Both wore jeans and black boots.  The taller of the two had on a tan sheepskin coat and the other was wearing a lined jean jacket.  They took off their hats as they reached the top of the stairs stepping onto the dining floor.  I nodded, received nods back from both and returned to eating. 

      They sat in a booth far along the other wall and from where I was sitting I could only see their boots from under the table.  Their hushed voices caused a twist in my gut.  They could know.  They could have been following me. 

      My slice of pie appeared before me and my eyes followed it as the waitress set it where the supper plate had been.  With a scent so intoxicating, it couldn’t have been out of the oven for longer than ten minutes.  I forgot about my company across the room and gave away my senses to this dessert.  There was heat coming off the pie and the ice cream that accompanied it had begun to melt. 

      After my first bite I looked up to find the taller man stretched around staring in my direction.

      How’s that? the man said.

      How’s what? I said even though I knew what he meant.

      The pie.  How’s the pie?

      It’s worth it for sure.