Sloan Wright

Hunted

Mick Fog is covering every building in sight. Fuck, if I ever slept, this would be too early. I huff, glancing at the dash. It's fucking 5 o' clock in the morning. Red flashes in the corner of my eye. "Oh, shit!" I slam on my breaks, trying to avoid running the stop sign, still cursing out loud. "Fucking fog" The rumble of my old blazer is the only noise in this small ghost town. I park by the sidewalk near what appears to be their coffee shop. If it's worth a damn, it'll be open...