Hey

Surprised to see me?

Yeah well, me too. I probably shouldn’t be writing at all what with, you know, the constant pressing threat of being pursued. If it weren’t for the unusual circumstances I really wouldn’t be writing. It’s not like I want to be found.

But here’s thing: by “unusual circumstances” I mean THE HAWTHORNES LEFT ME AT A FUCKING TRUCK STOP IN THE MIDDLE OF THE WOODS so I don’t really give a shit about the FBI catching up to us. In fact, I hope they do. In fact, I hope they catch up to us and put those bastards in jail for the rest of their sorry lives.

Ok potentially that’s a little bit dramatic. Being forgotten at a truck stop is like, objectively hilarious. They were arguing about a case they’re on and I wasn’t really listening. They’re STILL, after MONTHS, keeping me out of hunts, so there’s not really much point in paying attention to anything their big, drooling mouths say.

Not that I’m bitter or anything.

So yeah, thought it was funny, and then after like a couple of HOURS passed I realized that this is the most pathetic thing that’s ever happened to me. I’m abandoned in a truck stop by the only people who know where I am in this world. Like an abandoned puppy. Worse than that because they didn’t even do it on purpose. Like a soda can accidentally kicked out of their car when they climbed out.

Then a couple more hours passed and I got sorta pissed. So now I’m writing on my blog. That’s what people do, right? Get mad and blog about it?

HOURS guys.

Like it would have been funny if they’d forgotten me for a few minutes. It would have been great actually because I would’ve had something to hold over their heads for like ages. But I’ve been here for HOURS literally hours in this tiny truck stop in [REDACTED] and no one has come for me.

I waited outside in the parking lot at first. I sat on the parking bumper imagining them pulling back into the parking lot feeling hella sheepish. But then some fucking asshole trucker asked how much I charged so I went and hid in the bathroom, which is where I am now. Hidden in the last stall, typing and watching my phone slowly die.

There’s no service out here. I didn’t really expect there to be. This place is pretty far out into the woods, off some forgotten little highway. It’s like six or seven probably. Or wait that can’t be right, it was like sixish when we got here and it’s been hours. But also, the sky is still that same indigo twilight color outside between the evergreens, so maybe it hasn’t been hours. I can’t tell because my useless fucking phone isn’t even giving me the time anymore it’s just endlessly roaming. Maybe I’m just panicking

Fuck I swear I started this entry pissed off, but I’m starting to get scared. Also, fucking hungry. I can’t really stay in this fucking bathroom. Maybe they have a land line in the little truck stop office/shop thing.

Okay yeah, I need to go check that out. At the very least they’re bound to have a vending machine. Some of them have hot cocoa and coffee.

Wish me luck.

K so the truck stop office is actually a little tiny coffee place. The woman working was maybe in her fifties? Heavy-set with a complicated 80s hair situation, a lot of blue eyeshadow and an oxygen tank. Her name is Linda and she was appropriately appalled that I’d been left at a truckstop.

“They left you out here? Surrounded by all these truck drivers?” she frowned, pursing her lips and looking me over. I don’t think she entirely believes my story, but then she hasn’t asked me more about it. Now I’m thinking about it she probably sees her share of runaways out here so maybe she’s just used to it.

She had a phone charger at least.

There’s no internet of course. This probably won’t post.