Huh. Was the guy at the convenience store and I just didn’t see him? Maybe he just got gas. No, all of the pumps were open, I remember thinking how odd that was, and the only car in the lot was a coupe, not the boxy sedan that was on my tail when I got off the highway, and’s there again when I pulled out of the convenience store.
Whatever. Turning yellow at the next light — I’ll run it, hopefully the guy will stop. And, yes! See ya. If I turn right at the next light I can cut over to the county road, won’t save much time with so little traffic but odds are box-boy won’t go this way.
Still no cars. Nobody in sight neither, but that’s not unsual on a February evening. But no cars — that’s just wrong.
Right at the light, left on Spencer, right on Ridge. These stop signs are a pain in the ass. Finally hit the country road. Still no cars.
Except . . . really? Box-boy’s pulling up behind me again?
OK, so he’s probably going to one of the subdivisions. Plenty to choose from, all with safe pastoral names. Green Valley Lane — Sheila laughed when I told her, said she wouldn’t be caught dead in any house with that street name. Not that her ever coming out with me was an option. She got the condo, let her stay in the city, deal with all the dirt and crime.
Box-boy’s getting on my nerves. It’s pretty much a straight shot, fifteen minutes on the county road, three lights on the way. The mall won’t be open until spring. Gonna have to be creative to lose this guy.