I Live In A Small Town In Texas Called Sanderson, And I Can Tell Something Weird Is Going On

Fred, Daryl and I were getting pretty wasted after work. The bar was closing, but we felt in earnest we were not reaching our maximum potential of drunkenness. We grabbed a couple six packs of Shiner from the fridge in the garage and headed south on Highway 90. We drove about half an hour or more, pulled over, and went to work on the Shiner. After some amount of time, Fred passed out in the bed of the truck, and Daryl and I were finishing off the last two bottles, sitting on the hood. It was that point at the very end of the night, just before the morning — still dark as hell, but the sky starts going blue, getting ready for the sun. Aside from the crickets and the far off sound of a train, it’d been silent for a while when Daryl finally spoke.

“You ever think about what it’s like in other people’s heads?” Daryl asked. He didn’t look at me when he said it, just stared up at the sky. It took me a moment before I answered.

“Not especially. It’s busy enough in my own.”

Daryl turned to me. I could barely make out his expression in the low blue light, and only on one side. His eyes were wide open — the most serious I think I’ve ever seen him.

“I’m not joking, Wade. Wouldn’t you want to share your thoughts with the people you care about? Be apart of something good. Something worth a damn?”

I was drunk enough to not give a shit what he was saying, or chalk it up to Daryl being just as drunk as me.

I replied, “Yeah, sure I guess. Sounds like a fucking blast.”

A hand on my other side firmly grabbed my shoulder. I whirled around to find Fred completely awake, his gaze upward but then turning to me. The one side of his face just as blue and as serious as Daryl’s.