Photo Credit: https://www.pexels.com/@jplenio

She shut the overhead door to the storage unit and didn’t wince even a little when the metal  hit the concrete floor. She liked that sound. It sounded final and that was fine by her.

She climbed into Frank’s truck, pointed it west, and headed out onto Nevada’s Highway 50. They call it America’s Loneliest Road, which meant she’d feel right at home behind the wheel surrounded by solitude and nothingness. She’s gotten used to the quiet.

Somewhere al...