I sense you before I can see you. You don't belong here. This place is dirty and you are so very clean. Almost too clean, you shine. I wouldn't be able to look at you except your eyes tell a different story. Your eyes are hard, cold, and distant. Your eyes are not about cleaning, but about erasing. They judge and dismiss everything they see. I am intrigued.

Your presence causes a stir. You don't seem to care. You sit down next to me and I don't turn and look. I've been judged enough and you are so clean it hurts. I focus on your ring, your tacky red ring, and I know there is a story. I pretend not to care.

You order a beer. You sit and drink. Your presence is intolerable, but I refuse to back down and leave. I drink quietly and pretend that I don't notice your looks.

"You remind me of someone," you say quietly.

I notice how young you are, how your voice sounds like a boy trying to be all grown up. I notice how you radiate anger. I think perhaps underneath you are just a scared, spoiled child.

"You don't belong here," you add.

I finally really look at you. I look at the leather. I look at who you are trying so hard to be. I laugh.

"Go home to your mother, little boy. You don't belong here either," I say.

I expect anger. I expect a punch in the face. I don't expect the truly wicked smile.

"I like you. Everyone else is afraid of me," you explain.

I lost my ability to feel fear years ago.

"You remind me of someone too," I say.

You want to know more, but I have shut down certain parts of my mind and there are things I will not talk about with anyone; the way he said my name, the look in his eye when the sword went through my wrist, the feel of his hands on my shoulders as he slammed me into a wall, the way he laughed, the way his eyes judged me, the way he never seemed to get dirty despite all the blood. I wonder if you know what if feels like to kill someone. I wonder if you would kill me if you knew what I had done.

"My friend died," you say as if you are reporting the weather.

"Did you kill him?" I ask without even thinking.

But you don't get mad, just very still.

"Maybe," You say in an all together different voice, "Maybe I did."

"You came here to mourn your friend," I say.

But the little boy trying to be all bad is back and you say, "No, I don't care. He never trusted me. He got what he deserved."

"People who always talk about trust usually have something to hide," I observe.

You glare. I grin. It's been too long since I've played with fire.

"I could kill you and no one would care," you say.

"Yes, but you won't," I say.

"Probably not," you agree, "at least not today."

I smile again. That sounds like something he used to say.

"Come on. It's time to go," and you get up and head towards the exit. You assume that I will follow and I never even consider the idea of not.

We go outside. I am shocked by the sun. I had forgotten it was the middle of the day. You just put on your sunglasses. They make you look like a child playing dress up.

"Are you even old enough to drive?" I ask as you head towards a car.

You just smile and head towards the purple truck.

"This isn't yours," I say.

"No, I didn't drive here. I'm taking the purple truck. Today is definitely a purple truck day," you say.

I shrug. Who am I to criticize little boys who want to steal trucks?

You drive fast. I almost fall asleep watching the passing scenery. I feel safe. It annoys me. It would be nice every once in a while to feel scared.

"Why are you here?" he suddenly asks me.

"I got in the truck with you," I reply.

"No. I mean here, in the middle of nowhere. I know you. I know your eyes. You're supposed to be trying to rule the world," you say.

"I gave that up years ago," I reply.

"Oh," you say and you sound disappointed, "did you lose?"

I don't know how to answer that question. I don't think it's possible to articulate all that I lost and all that I won.

"I just stopped playing the game," I reply and my voice sounds tired.

"That's what I want to do," You say and we drive in silence.

I fall asleep. I wake up to you picking me up and carrying me out of the truck. You set me down by the side of the road.

"We ran out of gas," you explain.

"What happens now?" I ask.

The road is deserted. There are no towns for miles and miles. You just look at me and then you smile.

"How come you're never scared?" you ask.

"I... I don't know," and it's true. It's something I can't explain.

"Do you think he was afraid as his plane went down or do you think maybe he thought he was finally going to learn to fly?" he asks.

I have no answers.

Suddenly you are right in front of me. You lean down and kiss me. For a brief moment I feel vague stirrings of fear. I know that you could consume me. I think I like the idea. I relax and wrap my arms around you. Your lips are on my lips, your tongue is in my mouth, your hands are on my ass. I should be in heaven, but I feel nothing. You pull away and look at me.

"You're not him," you say.

"No, I'm not."

"You're not anybody," you say with wonder.

"Not anymore."

"I'm sorry," you say.

"I'm sorry about your friend," I start to say, but you are already gone, and I'm in the middle of nowhere with a stolen purple truck with no gas. I begin to laugh. He would have loved this.