began to vary from freezing to boiling. But I felt better after the shower; I dressed, went outside, and walked down Main Street looking for a restaurant.
It was one of those towns where everything closes at seven o’clock. I passed two dismal cafes, both happily closed, and reached the end of the main drag in about ten minutes. Here the highway turned, zigzagged through a small residential district and continued across country. Just around the bend was a walk-in-drive-in combination, where I ate a greasy hamburger and resolved, for sure, to eat something good tomorrow.
On the way back to the motel I saw an ice machine and thought of the bourbon in my backpack. I passed it by, feeling no need for alcohol of any kind. I would sleep well enough. For the first time in months I felt completely at peace with myself. I paused at the motel entrance and observed the car parked directly across the street. You don’t see many big black Oldsmobiles any more, and somewhere, today, I was sure I had seen this one. That might not be anything more than an unlikely coincidence, two travelers crossing paths twice in one day; but, curious, I crossed the street for a closer look. The first thing I saw was that it bore Florida license plates with the numbers 38-3414. I walked around the car and peeped in through the window. The inside was nicely done, with thick carpeting and new seat covers and a tape deck. There was a telephone too, rather an unusual piece of equipment for a car. The ashtray was full. And that was all I noticed about the big black car before I began to feel conspicuous. I hurried back to my motel room.
In the darkness I undressed; then I slipped between the sheets of the double bed. It was hard and good and I was asleep almost at once. I awoke at three-thirty, after seven hours’ sleep, my mind clear and ready for the long drive ahead. When I came outside I saw that the black Oldsmobile was still parked innocently across the street. I shrugged it off, still not completely satisfied that it was a coincidence, and eased my own car out into the westbound lane of Route 50. In a moment the town’s business section slipped into the gloom behind me.
I turned the bend at the end of town, passed the grease pot where I had taken my last meal, and stopped. My nagging hunch about the black Oldsmobile would not pass, so I parked under a tree at the side of the road and got out. The walk back to the bend was short, but even before I reached it I saw the headlights of an oncoming car. I jumped behind a tree just as the car turned the bend; it was well past me before I tried a look. It was not an Oldsmobile, at least not the Oldsmobile, because the first thing I saw was a large silver star painted on the door around the word POLICE. Local cops always scare me anyway, but this police car coming at this time was especially sobering. I had no doubt that I could be jailed and held for at least a day on nothing stronger than the fact that I was ducking around a dark street in a small Ohio town at four o’clock in the morning. That and my being a stranger might actually get me a jail term in some police courts. So I stood in the shadows until the car was out of sight, and since the bend was just a few steps away, I quickly walked to it and looked far down the street. It was at least six blocks back, but there were sporadic streetlights, and I could just make out the Oldsmobile still parked across from the motel, where I had last seen it
A light rain had begun to fall by the time I left the town, and when I got to the next town the rainfall was heavy. I found an all-night restaurant, stopped, and got some black coffee for my thermos. The rain was even heavier when I got on the road again; it pounded my windshield with a monotonous patter. I drove slowly, keeping both hands on the wheel and my eyes on the slick pavement. A Route 50 West marker flashed by; then a sign that said Athens and something that looked like 25 miles, but might have
It was one of those towns where everything closes at seven o’clock. I passed two dismal cafes, both happily closed, and reached the end of the main drag in about ten minutes. Here the highway turned, zigzagged through a small residential district and continued across country. Just around the bend was a walk-in-drive-in combination, where I ate a greasy hamburger and resolved, for sure, to eat something good tomorrow.
On the way back to the motel I saw an ice machine and thought of the bourbon in my backpack. I passed it by, feeling no need for alcohol of any kind. I would sleep well enough. For the first time in months I felt completely at peace with myself. I paused at the motel entrance and observed the car parked directly across the street. You don’t see many big black Oldsmobiles any more, and somewhere, today, I was sure I had seen this one. That might not be anything more than an unlikely coincidence, two travelers crossing paths twice in one day; but, curious, I crossed the street for a closer look. The first thing I saw was that it bore Florida license plates with the numbers 38-3414. I walked around the car and peeped in through the window. The inside was nicely done, with thick carpeting and new seat covers and a tape deck. There was a telephone too, rather an unusual piece of equipment for a car. The ashtray was full. And that was all I noticed about the big black car before I began to feel conspicuous. I hurried back to my motel room.
In the darkness I undressed; then I slipped between the sheets of the double bed. It was hard and good and I was asleep almost at once. I awoke at three-thirty, after seven hours’ sleep, my mind clear and ready for the long drive ahead. When I came outside I saw that the black Oldsmobile was still parked innocently across the street. I shrugged it off, still not completely satisfied that it was a coincidence, and eased my own car out into the westbound lane of Route 50. In a moment the town’s business section slipped into the gloom behind me.
I turned the bend at the end of town, passed the grease pot where I had taken my last meal, and stopped. My nagging hunch about the black Oldsmobile would not pass, so I parked under a tree at the side of the road and got out. The walk back to the bend was short, but even before I reached it I saw the headlights of an oncoming car. I jumped behind a tree just as the car turned the bend; it was well past me before I tried a look. It was not an Oldsmobile, at least not the Oldsmobile, because the first thing I saw was a large silver star painted on the door around the word POLICE. Local cops always scare me anyway, but this police car coming at this time was especially sobering. I had no doubt that I could be jailed and held for at least a day on nothing stronger than the fact that I was ducking around a dark street in a small Ohio town at four o’clock in the morning. That and my being a stranger might actually get me a jail term in some police courts. So I stood in the shadows until the car was out of sight, and since the bend was just a few steps away, I quickly walked to it and looked far down the street. It was at least six blocks back, but there were sporadic streetlights, and I could just make out the Oldsmobile still parked across from the motel, where I had last seen it
A light rain had begun to fall by the time I left the town, and when I got to the next town the rainfall was heavy. I found an all-night restaurant, stopped, and got some black coffee for my thermos. The rain was even heavier when I got on the road again; it pounded my windshield with a monotonous patter. I drove slowly, keeping both hands on the wheel and my eyes on the slick pavement. A Route 50 West marker flashed by; then a sign that said Athens and something that looked like 25 miles, but might have
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