Kayla Cumsalot 1844-33-CANDY ext 357
The car sputtered to a stop a hundred miles from the nearest gas station. Hell, I hadn’t seen an exit in I don’t know when. The desert stretched out in front and behind me for as far as I could see. The late afternoon sun beat down on my back as I stood in front of the car with the hood open, looking down at who knows what.
There was no smoke billowing from the shut-off engine anymore, and everything looked exactly the same as it had last time I glanced in here. Of course, it didn’t help that I didn’t know what I was looking at then either. With a heavy exhale, I slammed the hood closed and leaned my ass against it.
Not a cloud in the sky or a car on the highway. My cell had no service, and I was royally fucked. I glared up at the sun, knowing as hot as it was now, soon it would be freezing—the curse of the desert. I needed a way home, and I needed one fast.
Sweat beaded down the back of my wife beater and soaked into the waistband of my daisy dukes. I pushed myself off the hood and kicked the dirt. Maybe I should start walking? That seemed like a dumb idea but the only option at the moment. Hanging around here with a busted-ass car wasn’t gonna do me no good. I grabbed my keys, locked the broken-down car, flipped it off, and started back toward Las Vegas.
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