“The usual?” Mary grabbed two slices of sourdough from a bag before slapping on some tuna salad.
“Yeah,” Tom replied looking around the deli.
Two small puddles of rain water merged on the floor. He shook the drops from his umbrella before sticking it into a cloth grocery sack. Water leaked through the canvas of the heavy bag. He looked around to see if anyone saw its contents.
Mary sliced through his sandwich, placed it on a plate with pickle, and pushed it toward him. He placed on his tray a banana from the fruit basket and a cello-wrapped brownie from the deserts.
“Just a cup of ice water,” he said paying for the lunch.
The day-long truck ride started out as an adventure, then a journey, and after the third basin and range, it became a challenge to overcome boredom.
Victor rolled down the window. He stuck his head out far enough for the wind to buffet his face. The blowing wind helped. He shuck off the grog. He blinked a few times. The cool air made his face numb but the inside air made him sleepy.
He reached back in and the heat hit again. He looked at the thermometer. Still more than 96 degrees. Was that inside or out? It didn’t matter. It was still hot.
Not a car passed in two hours. The desert highway lived up to its name as the loneliest road. Looking east across the playa, Victor saw the heat waves rising off the sand. Blue and green forms rose in a dance hypnotic and he ran too close to the edge. He pulled back with a sharp turn. Another mistake would either leave him awake or dead.
He reached over for some water. The bottle felt light and only a sip remained. He took it. The little wetness only made him thirstier. He reached behind him for another bottle. Finding none, he licked the bottom of his front teeth and wet his tongue.