Road Trip Sighting
ROAD TRIP SIGHTING
By Greentea82
The gas station smelled of fried chicken. As Harvin noticed the counter, indeed there were white pouches with Roger Rooster in red outline across the bag under glow of the heat lamps. Hanging above was a sandwich board where most of the major cities and states were represented. A Philly Cheesesteak would hit the spot now, he thought.
Harvin grabbed French Vanilla from one of the dispensers. He put two creams of the same and no sugar. It would be sweet enough. His hand retracted like he touched a hot stove, and he put a cardboard sleeve around it. Behind him he heard what sounded like Dutch. Two older women unfamiliar with American Gas Station Coffee Customs were struggling with the condiment section. One of them grabbed the non-dairy creamer then let out an Oh! when she saw the floating powder in the cup.
“Pack of camel filtered,” Harvin began. “Actually no. Could I have a pack of grape swisha sweets instead? And also a small lighter.
The large man who must have been six eight and looked as if he could handle a robber or two at a time got two of the mini cigars and placed them on the counter. Harvin paid and left with a line forming.
He drove his truck around the pumps and parked it in the lot. With the door wide open, he lit a swisha up and puffed smoke and breathed in until it left his nostrils. He spat hard on the ground, then continued to take deep exhales of the cigar. Grape saliva filled his gums, and he spat it out hard.
The gas station was a gathering for tourists on their way to Peckinpaugh’s Ranch and Reserve. Harvin wondered if he should be smoking or if he’d pass out. The winding mountain road reached elevations of six thousand feet. At about four thousand his head began to swim, and at two thousand more it lifted up like a balloon. His fingers tingled slightly.
Harvin froze; the car jerked with a hard brake.
The twin horns protruding off an enormous skull and two large black eyes stared him down.
The moose faced the headlights of his truck like a linebacker. Harvin felt the urine dribble down his leg. The great creature lifted a leg and began to scratch the road. He thought he heard the creature snort. Then gave off a loud bellow and wandered slowly to the opposite side of the woods and disappeared in the brush.
Harvin reached for the gear shift, palms sweaty, heart throbbing in chest.
He’d have a story to tell; except he never told of his life to anyone but maybe his parents.
