Stan sunk into the seat of his diablo and slammed the door shut. Absently he ran a hand through his hair. He really needed to cut it; he was going to have a mullet soon. It was a miserable day. The heat seemed to be sucking out all his energy. His air-conditioning had stopped working a year or two ago and he had never got around to getting it fixed.
He sighed and tugged at the off-white sleeve of his button up shirt. There were some dirt and grease stains on it from the con that had gone wrong this morning. Turns out the people around here were not quite the suckers he had taken them for. Or maybe it was just him. It felt like every job he did was harder to pull off. Stan was starting to wonder how much longer he could do this for. How much longer he wanted to. He was just so tired.
A semi truck pulled into the gas station and Stan watched as the driver hopped out and started fueling.
Maybe he could settle down somewhere and get a steady job. It would certainly be harder with a criminal record and no high school education, but he could probably find something.
It felt like that would be admitting defeat. If he settled he could never prove his worth to his father or earn his brother's forgiveness. He didn't want to be alone. He was just so tired.
Stan reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a worn photo. He and Ford looked so happy and carefree. The sight of his father brought mixed feelings, but that was nothing new. For a moment he entertained the idea of calling his brother, but he quickly dismissed it. He couldn't keep doing that.
He shoved the photo back into the glove box and turned the key.
Just a little farther, Stan thought.