He stood at the truck stop with his thumb out for nearly an hour before someone offered a ride. It was near dusk and he’d almost started walking. The aging driver was in a pickup truck that looked even older.

“I’m not headed very far,” the man said as they merged onto the highway.

“Alright with me,” the boy replied. He looked back; the truck stop and its leering tiger billboard were gone.

They sat in silence. The boy thought about the fight that led him here, his father’s push out the door. He’d worn out his welcome with his friends, too. Maybe they would miss their fall guy, but no matter; he’d make better ones wherever he was headed.

They drove west, chasing a sun that hardly seemed to be setting. The old man glanced at the boy’s lone backpack.

“So, you a runaway?”

The boy said nothing.

“It’s alright,” the man continued. “I was the same at your age.”

The man reminded the boy of his father. Similar slouch, tired expression. There wouldn’t be much use telling him why he’d left, or that he wasn’t the one who actually stole anything.

“I’m going to need a break in maybe twenty miles,” the man said.

“Fine by me.”

The landscape grew industrial again as they neared the next city.

“It’s not too late to turn around. I could stop and call your parents.”

“It’s all good.”

“I had a feeling you’d say that.”

They rolled into a truck stop that looked identical to the first, down to the tiger billboard overhead. The old man left the key in the ignition, stepped out, and walked into the building without a word.

The boy slid into the driver’s seat. The pedals and mirrors were already adjusted perfectly. He started the truck.