Asphalt
You take the coffee from the machine, fingertips on the verge of melting from the heat emanating around the outside of the cup. No lids, no cardboard sleeves; you are holding the coffee in your bare hands making extra sure not to spill it like last time. From the entry point of the brownish-black liquid you feel a line of flame, stretching all the way down into your stomach. The coffee is good, you think to yourself, the only good thing left. You walk back to your car. You feel like you could drive all night. With nothing but that cup and a Snickers to keep you going, weary eyes straining from how long you’ve been awake, you start your Corolla and get on the road again. Road is a bit of a nebulous word for you; it’s all road, really. You can’t see the farms off to either side of you, and not because of the darkness, but because they’re not there anymore. Every scrap of flat land got turned into a big parking lot at some point in your life. The thing is, you don’t even remember whe...