Route 66

“Do you have any idea?” she asked, pausing and waiting for the quiet to sink in. “Do you know what it’s like to have a wound that doesn’t heal?” This - whatever this was - he was not expecting. To her credit, it was all she said. She held still for what must have seemed like forever, then slid out of the booth - the naugahyde shiny and full of the color leather could only hope for - and she was instantly on her feet and moving, and then gone. Somewhere down the mother road. It was then he noticed his glass was empty.