The skinny little guy in the blue shirt lit another cigarette and walked closer to the highway, watching the cars and trucks zoom by, the wind parting his greasy hair.
He felt as though he had the highway to himself tonight…which was fine with him. To him, it was his trinket – all that beautiful but lonely yellow stripes and asphalt rolling out before him like a red carpet to freedom. A red carpet to oblivion.
The guy in the blue shirt has traveled this long, lonesome highway countless times over the years, and it always ends up the same. His loneliness and longing and lust for cold-blooded murder get the best of him, and someone else has to die.
To him, life itself was so meaningless and the distinction between living and dead people so blurred that killing another human being was no different from swatting an annoying fly.
Very soon, the guy in the blue shirt will travel all over this country robbing, raping, burning, killing, and attacking America more like an epidemic plague than a human being.