grand detour

a man in a blue coat walks past the gas station at 10:47 p.m. the light from the sign above the door casts a rectangle on the pavement, barely wide enough for his foot. he steps into the rectangle, then out, as if testing the boundary between inside and outside.

the wind has picked up, carrying the scent of pine and diesel. a car radio plays a song about a place called the valley of the shadow of death. the driver doesn’t change the station. the song repeats twice, then fades.

somewhere behind the gas station, a chain-link fence leans at a slight angle. a raccoon scampers up it, leaving a trail of dirt on the wire. it disappears into the trees, where the branches are heavy with the weight of an early frost.