Laying in the grass. Staring up at the sky. Another night outside in my sweet paradise. Didn’t take long to find the big dipper and of course the little one was pouring right into that, as she usually does. They were bright tonight, so far away from the interference of man made light. I found Orion, stretching his bow. Pleiades and Taurus. I closed my eyes and wondered about the men who first picked these ones out. What do I see? Can I not sketch a constellation of my own? I opened my eyes and peered deep in the sky, erasing all those drawings of antiquity. What do I see? A pistol. Fitting I suppose. I adjusted the pack that was my pillow and let sleep take me. Dreamed of a rowdy evening with the seven sisters.
	The light of the rising sun woke me. Not many birds in these plains. I brushed myself off and threw on my jacket as I shivered from the bite of the morning chill. Pulled on my boots and inspected my surroundings. It was a bloody sun today, and the tint it gave the sky made the clouds look like smoke pouring off a heavy blaze. Still dark, but I saw no sign of animal or man, just the high grass waving in the breeze.
I strapped on my gunbelt and bandolier, rolled up my blanket and packed it away. I had a small portable stove, of the propane type. Spam and beans were my breakfast, as they had been my dinner the night before. I brewed up a little coffee, spiked it with some brandy, and lit a small cigar, as I chewed it all down. When all was said and done, I rose from my pack and threw it on my back. Checked my pistol in its holster and started walking towards the highway.
I had bedded down about five or six miles from the road. Light can carry far in these flatlands but two hours was the most I felt like walking last night. The grass was taller where I slept anyways, and I was hardly being pursued. So why should I give a damn? Though, two hours did give the sun a good bit of height and daylight was well upon me when I first saw the heat coming off the road.
Mine was a quiet stretch of highway. I liked it that way. Made everything easier. Always been more of an independant type anyways. My territory spanned about 50 miles technically, but I usually stuck to this 10 mile stretch. 10 miles on from the gas station, with the city on the ass end of that. Most people who left the city had to refuel there, as it was quite a ways to the next stop. Far enough too, that men never ventured out this far unless they had to.
I settled in and took my position in the prone about 50 yards from the road. With my binoculars my line of sight extended a few miles. The days are mostly boring and I mostly occupy myself with calisthenics and the books I pick up from the gas station. The road is less travelled these days than when I first came upon it, but there’s still enough low hanging fruit to feed me year round. It was close to noon I saw a traveller coming that day. Sun was at its zenith, and I was starting to sweat in my long pants and denim jacket. I figured I had roughly five minutes until they were past me.
As the vehicle neared I made it to be an armored car, of the sort the banks use. I reopened my book. This one would pass unchallenged, I had not the firepower to take it nor the will, especially knowing the backlash that would result. As the sun slunk down to the far horizon without any other passerbys, I thought of making my way to the gas station. I had eaten the last of my meat this morning and only had a few small cans of beans and mixed vegetables left. I decided against it, as I did have some food, and the dollars were short anyways. One last glance up the road then I picked myself up and headed in search of some place to lay my head.
Once again. Laying on the grass. Like so many nights before. With my eyes I traced the constellations familiar. Then I sought out mine. The pistol. Is there a latin translation for pistol? I suppose not, it was a little after their time. Pistola? No. Why use Italian when I named it in English. Is this the first English constellation? I don’t know. I’m not an astronomer. Astrologist? Such were my thoughts as I drifted off to sleep. Though as usual my dreams were occupied by women.
I woke. I scanned the area. No trace of man or animal. To my surprise the sun rose red again. I had been surprised the day before when this omen was not accompanied by its usual rain. It was darker too. An almost deathly hue. Reminiscent of the blood which flows from an opened artery. I put it from my mind and carried out my morning ritual. I missed the meat, but food always tastes better in short supply. With my pistol ready and my pack upon me, I made my way to my hunting grounds.
I crossed the highway that day. I set up on the inside of a turn in the road. Anyone leaving the city would be driving into the setting sun. 50 yards from the road. Lying on the ground. I was cranking out push ups with a book of Greek philosophy and a pistol in front of me when I heard it. I usually only checked the bino’s every 10 minutes, traffic was so rare these days. The car was screaming, it was in rough shape. Close, looked to be a station wagon. Evening was closing in, sun was at my back. I left my gunbelt with my pack. Closed my jacket over my bandolier, and stuffed my pistol in the back of my waistband.
	It took me less than a minute to reach the middle of the road. I raised my arms, pleading. The station wagon slowed. I saw a man sleeping in the passenger seat and a woman at the wheel. She rolled down her window and yelled out to me.
	“Move or I’ll fucking run you over!”
	I shot right through the windshield, my draw was fast as lightning. Two through the tits and two through her man’s chest. With my gun up I approached. I saw no one else. I searched the vehicle but found little besides a baby crying in the back. Clothes, a little food, and baby supplies. Not interested in diapers or infanticide, I only took the little money I found on the bodies of the parents, I presume. I gathered my gunbelt and my pack and walking a distance parallel to the highway started making my way to the gas station.
	The bell rang as I opened the door. I always found the sound comforting. I waved to the cashier, he responded in kind. I was after all, a regular. It was more than just a gas station, this far from civilization. Well stocked in all manner of goods, more like the general stores from my home, but everyone here called it a gas station. What can you do? I walked the aisles, gathered some food, propane, bullets, cigars, and a little brandy. There was a small lounge area to the side and after paying, I took a seat and opened my new bottle.
	I must’ve been halfway through it when I heard that old bell ring. Two men wearing the uniform of the city’s marshalls stepped in. One walked straight to the cashier with a poster in his hand, while the other stood at the door, surveying the room, and brandishing a gun. I threw my bottle at the wall. Shot the distracted marshall at the door. I tried to turn and fell to the floor. I couldn’t move my pistol anymore.