As Michael continued driving into his eleventh hour, lines began to blur. Day folded under the pressure of night. The road thrashed like a pinned snake anytime he didn’t directly look at it. Thankfully, as long as he focused, it stayed reasonably straight.

Stifling a yawn, he checked the speedometer, squinting at the needle that seemed to pin the white thirty five to the dial. That’s right, it had stopped working a couple of hours ago. He tried to count telephone poles per minute but gave up after two tries. Counting made the road wobbly.

It took some effort to unclench a stiff hand from the wheel. He tried to rub some feeling back into the exposed skin of his other arm. Cold recycled air blew out every vent, filling the car with arctic winds.

Boyz II Men’s ‘End of the Road’ started to play again. He couldn’t remember how many times he had heard the opening bars.

The end of the road.

That would be pleasant. No more driving. No more numbness. No more Ashley. Well there wouldn’t be any more Ashley anyway.