No Turn-over

Slowly Rog collected himself, grounding himself, feet upon a slowly spinning earth. He breathed in the slightly cool air of the twilight, breathing out a silent prayer of thanks that he was alive and the car was not damaged. Stretching his lanky body, perhaps best described as sinewy, he began to feel revived, a little more like himself, the him before the diamond escapade of disappointment. Life was moving forward, one mile after another and he had a plan, a plan that would sustain him until he figured out the whole Joan and marriage thing. Perhaps a few years in the military, gambling that this life was not expendable, would bring some maturity to his desire to do the right thing. Best not to travel this road anymore tonight.

He opened the car door, climbed into the driver seat and made a few adjustments to the rear view mirror. The familiarity of buckling the seat belt felt comforting and secure. He closed the door and inserted his key into the ignition. It slid in smoothly, just as it always had. He turned it away from him as he had hundreds of times since he had bought the car. It clicked familiarly, but the engine did not catch. He tried again. Nothing.

Without realizing it, Rog took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. He pushed the gas peddle in a few times and then the brake peddle. He turned the ignition again. Nothing. No familiar sound of a start, just the sound of incoming traffic.

Inside his mind, he swore for a moment, and wished again that he had not been so insistent in remaining phone gadget-free.

Little was he aware that his movements were being followed and recorded.