Jimmy sat on the rain-soaked bench at the bus station, futilely attempting to smoke. He wondered if he even had a place with Johnny anymore since he move back home. His function was an outlet for Johnny to move away from the suburban life and embrace an identity in the city; he was a hand to hold on the worst of the nights while Johnny begged for the pain to go away. He was meant to have died when Johnny decided to go with Whatsername.
And he did die. Twelve years, in fact, was the amount of time he was dead. How bad did things get for him to be wanted again? Glimpses of waking up when Donald Trump- wasn't he just a reality star or some real estate dude?- was on the news, when people were beginning to protest the removal of Confederate flags, and the list goes on and on.
To be honest, Jimmy didn't know why he woke up at this bus stop in Indiana. The only things he had were a pack of cigarettes and a lighter and the clothes on his back. He wondered if he looked the same as he used to. Johnny would probably be recognizable, but not the fresh-faced 18-year-old he was in 2004.
He grunted and threw the cigarette on the ground, giving up in his attempt. There had to be someplace nearby that he could get out of this damn rain.
I'm runnin' late to somewhere now,
I don't want to be...
Had he heard those words before? He pulled the jacket he wore tighter around him even though he knew it would do nothing. It wasn't until now that he realized that red stained his white shirt and sighed. He only wanted another start.
Jimmy walked for hours, feeling a sense of urgency that he had someplace to be. A gas station, not unlike the 7/11 where he first met Johnny, appeared through the rain. The last he knew, pay phones were dwindling because of cheap cell phones, but he was sure there was a phone book. Maybe he could look Johnny up.