InsaneJournal

Richard tossed the last of his 5-hours to the floor of the cab, where it rattled against a small pile of its brothers.  It was quite the collection, he thought, especially considering that he had only owned the truck for six days.  Four of which had been on the road.  At that thought he leaned his head against the steering wheel, allowing himself a moment of rest.  Two thousand miles in four days wasn't half bad, he supposed.  Truckers did more with less sleep, and it had been too good of an opportunity to pass up.  He had only needed to go a little out of the way to travel along Route 66.  It was the quintessential American Road Trip: nothing but him, the road, and a collection of cassettes- the first of which was eaten by the truck's ancient tape deck before he hit Chicago's city limits.  Even without the music, it was still an adventure.  So what if he had never driven anything larger than a Prius before?  So what if the trailer didn't have tail lights? These were the kinds of details that made adventures worth while.  At least, he thought so then.  He was still amused after the Monster's first flat tire.  After the second one blew in the middle of New Mexico, he mentally downgraded the whole thing from "adventure" to "journey".  Now, well, whatever it had been, it was over.

Almost over, anyway.  He still had to get everything inside, though that looked like it was going to be easier then he had thought.  His iPhone had been buzzing happily for the past few minutes with what he had generously decided to call "offers of help." He was going to have to make a run to the nearest purveyor of scotch if many more people joined in.  That is, if the "neighbor turf war" didn't break out before then.  He smirked, imagining little old ladies in crocheted gang colors, brandishing lawn ornaments.  Having neighbors was going to be an interesting change.

Speaking of neighbors... he ran a hand through his hair, which had long ago given up any semblance of order.  He didn't have to look in a mirror (which was good, because the truck didn't have one) to know that the curls had staged a revolt.  It was a mess, and if he looked half as tired as he should feel his neighbors would be more likely to think he was one of the walking dead than a new tenant.  Add that to the grungy jeans and the Pink Floyd tee and, well, he could do image restoration later.  Right now, he just needed to get moved in.

He should get started on that.  He took a deep breath, gathering himself together, and then climbed down from the truck's cab and started down the length of the Monster.  For once, it looked like all the tires were intact.  Miracles did happen.  Through the windows he could see the top layers of his stuff, apparently all still safe in its bungee cords.  Really, there wasn't enough of it to need that much space.  Maybe he should have mentioned that in his post?  He thought it over while he tried to open the Monster's back gate.  Which was stuck.  He tugged a bit harder.  Nothing.  With a curse, he knelt down to fiddle with the locking mechanism.  "Monster, honey, " he muttered, squinting at the rusty handle, " we have had some good times together, but as soon as I get my stuff I am dumping you like a dalmatian puppy on New Year's Day. Swear to god, if you don't open up I am going to commandeer some Jaws of Life and open you!"