The Devil's Spot
Bri G. Maxwell
Copyright 2011 Brienna G. Maxwell
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The drifter slipped into the convenience station while the clerk was busy with a particularly loud set of customers. He knew from experience that his appearance did not convey that he was a paying customer, and most clerks would watch him closely while he was in the store.
He had a little money, bummed from the trucker who dropped him off; if he was lucky it would buy him a hot meal.
As he made his way to the men's room he stumbled and knocked himself into a display rack of batteries. He cursed under his breath as he took a minute to straighten himself out. If the clerk was watching he would seem drunk.
The convenience store was big, set up with showers that truckers could rent. He strolled over to the hand sinks, splashing water on his hands and face, leaving traces of muddy water on his skin, while he used the mirror to check the shower area to see if any of the showering truckers had left their shoes on the floor. His own shoes, acquired in another truck-stop shower room, were beginning to fall apart.