Boredom has finally overtaken him. His thumb mindlessly flicks the channel-up button on the television remote control. Each channel appears but for less time than it takes the tuner to display the channel before the next is requested. A comfortable pair of dark green-brown cargo pants and a black t-shirt is what he is wearing. He scoots to the side of the bed and sits up, remote still in hand. His eyes are on the TV, but he isn’t paying attention. It’s been longer than he can remember the last time he had a drink. It’s cold outside; far colder than any other time he had experienced in Texas. He slips on the light jacket that he brings along in his backpack, regardless of what weather he expects.

Exiting the room, he gently pulls the door to his room shut, being sure that it doesn’t slam shut. This is a habit, one that he always adheres to, especially in hotels, where the doors always seem to retract quicker than expected, slamming shut with enough force to wake anyone on that wing. At least he thinks so.

Down the hall, toward the elevator, his head sags toward the floor as he awaits the telling ping of the car, notifying it’s soon arrival and the eventual opening of the doors. He steps inside and presses whatever button has the star next to it; the one representing the ground floor. The one leading to the world outside. He’s then sure to press the button that closes the door. This is a habit from his days living in St. Louis, where the elevator in his building seemed to keep the door open until this button was pressed. Of course, he presses it several times. For but a brief moment, he is amused. He thinks back to a movie scene, or perhaps a television show, where one of the characters said, “When will they develop a button that recognizes urgency?!” This very thought crosses his mind nearly every time he presses this button, as when he presses it, it’s never once but several times. And of course he knows that it’s not the button that would recognize the ‘urgency,’ but the car control system. Thoughts of the development of this system flash through his mind. How simple would it be to develop in a mere afternoon? Then he realizes that he’s thinking too much. He’s been told this several times in life. “Quit thinking so much,” they’d say. “Let the little things go.” “You don’t have to figure EVERYTHING out, you know.” “You don’t have to solve every problem.”

I don’t. I can’t. Yes I do. Yes I will.

It’s all I have to do.

All anyone needs is love. And if you can’t give him that, then give him hope. And if you can’t give him hope, then for God’s sake… give him something to do.

He recites this briefly in his mind. Then it is gone. The elevator doors open. He exits, turns right, and heads toward the sliding automatic doors to the cold outdoors.

* * *

A short distance across the parking lot is the Finamart. It’s a small, nondescript convenience mart sharing the same parking lot as the express motel that he is currently spending his brief evenings in. This is his first time in this small west Texas town. There’s not much to speak of here. A few gas stations, the crossroads of three interstate highways, some cutting across Texas, others crossing up from Mexico. Several Mexican restaurants dot the streets. Hundreds of oil wells are speckled throughout the landscape.

He rounds the corner of the Finamart and pulls the cold metal handle of the door open just enough to slip in. Turning to his left, he looks toward the counter where the cash register is. And there she is.