The Hitcher’s Dead End

It was pitch dark, and I was alone. Just like the old days when I was the most dangerous hitcher on the road. My favorite time to work was always at night. Surprising the creeps that picked me up with a shotgun to their chest was scarier in the dark — for them. I looked at hitching like scriptwriting— you have to pick the setting and the character, and then set up the dialogue. “You killed my wife,” was always the kicker I used before I blasted them off to their doom. Of course, my wife was — is — alive and well, but you should have seen the look on those poor suckers faces! Once I even held a flashlight under my chin for dramatic effect. It’s a cheap trick, but you wouldn’t believe how well it works in real life. For me, it was never about the money. It was the thrill of the chase that was intoxicatingly addictive. But this night, no bright headlights lit up the intense fog around me. <blockquote> Oh, right. I’m dead. </blockquote> So this is what an out-of-body experience feels like. I used to joke around with my wife: “I’d rather party in hell than be stuck with the saints in heaven.” But, so far, I hadn’t found the sign pointing to the party — or any sign for that matter. I was a hitcher left without a route. Ironically, my wife was the one who had sent me off to this never-neverland. They say to keep your friends close and your enemies closer, so I’d put the ring on her finger to prevent this sort of thing from happening. Although we were both psychopaths, on the whole, we weren’t so different from most married people. We were two halves of a whole. Cut from the same cloth. Mutually toxic co-dependents. We hated each other with some secret admiration on the side. She was the only one I found that could be my equal. Instead of a heart of gold, she had a heart of steel that I found irresistibly attractive. When it came to scruples, her account was negative. She’d send off sinners and saints to their preferred eternal destination like an overzealous angel of death. She never had late-night drunken fits of weepy regret, either. What was done was done. <a href="https://medium.com/pitfall/the-hitchers-dead-end-abc99eae3bf0">Click Here</a>