The Traveler

“Listen, I need to go do something. So, if I’m not back in time, the meat needs at least another ten minutes. Let it rest, but if you can’t wait, help yourself.”

“Where,” stumbles out before lips seal together as she accepts what she cannot change.

Walking amongst the graveyard of relics barely visible in the pale night air, parting clouds shed a smidgen of moonlight and thinking this is the break he needs, lifts the back hatch. Fishing buddies settle in before the thought drifts away to where he sets aside a tackle box and an ultralight fishing rod. Both useful, gets to snooping around for more treasures when he sees a woven picnic basket shoved against the wheel well. Hardly used, crosses his mind and clearing a path by pulling the basket towards him, once the lid is upright on its hinges, held in place behind sturdy mesh are four plates and matching cups.

Picking one of each, adds each to the growing pile and after doing this, left to be fulfilled is everything on his initial list. With nothing left to do but unfold the checkered tablecloth, puts it to use as a carryall and once over his shoulder, goes to scoping out the remaining road machines when elongated eyelashes protruding over each headlamp of a V bug has him shifting the weight carried that aids in calming the rush of hitting the jackpot.