Rest Stop

by Nat Cassidy

Splat! A bug the size of an adult human thumb collides with his windshield, presenting its insides in a wet bouquet across the glass.

Abe had scoffed. “That’s wild. My grandmother’s one of the worst people I’ve ever met.” “Your grandmother?” As if grandmothers were some trusted brand. “Seriously?”

“And the Lord said let there be a gas station, and it was so. See? Miracles do happen.” Mouth watering at the thought of Icees and beef jerky and, holy shit, some Hostess motherfucking SnoBalls, Abe glides smoothly onto the exit ramp.

Sometimes capitalism knows how to hold you just right.