Mostly I love my job. Sometimes I hate it, but even then I cannot imagine myself doing anything else. For example: Right now I am travelling west, twenty miles out of Hobson, Montana, and I am going through a snowstorm and all I can see is white everywhere. So as not to run the Starseed off the road, I am only going a hundred KPH. Ordinarily I would take this sort of road at close to twice that.
About twenty minutes ago I stopped at a little diner for lunch. I was served by a woman in red lipstick and a shirt with the name of the diner written on it in fabric pen. She had wrinkles around her eyes and smiled like she would get shot if she didn't. I overtipped her. I would have given her the address of a good nightclub, except there weren't any within a hundred miles. I'd be a hundred miles away in a few hours. That night she'd go home to the same place she woke up in this morning, and this evening I'd either be in Seattle or I'd be dead in a ditch with shotgun pellets in my brain, but either way I wouldn't be in Hobson, Montana.
Even when I hate my job I don't despise it.
At least in weather like this nobody would be out after me. My tracks are the only thing that disturbs the snow, and I am keeping on the road by the shadows of fenceposts, the sip where a ditch has to be. Snow doesn't bother the Starseed much. She's a good car, and I'm lucky to have her.
The divide between the inside of my car and the outside still suprises me sometimes. I remembered it especially this morning, on I-94 when I knew I was being tailed but they couldn't do a thing to me, not in the middle of the highway like that. I lost them before I hit North Dakota, faked it toward an exit and sent them into the ditch. They made no noise as they crashed. Inside the car was another world, with no ice and no blowing snow and no noise but the gentle purr of the motor. The man climbed out of the car, tried to shoot after me anyway, but I didn't feel a thing. The Starseed keeps me safe.
I don't like getting out of the car when I don't have to. I'll put the top down when I'm in the south, but my feet don't like the feel of the ground, and my body doesn't like how slow it is without her.
The world outside is nothing but white.
I have to get to Seattle by this evening. The snowstorm should be gone before I reach Idaho. I'll be fine. Just fine. All I have to do is keep going.
In a way, it's what I'm known for - keeping going when any sensible person would have stopped and turned around. But that's the advantage of the Starseed - it's my own little world in here. No matter who's after me, no matter how desperate, no matter what they throw in front of me, it can't affect me unless I get out and let it, and so I and my Starseed go from place to place, with any number of dangerous cargoes safe in our trunk. It's like an addiction. My wheels itch, and I cannot stay long in one place. If there is no job for me, I go anyway, driving easy knowing nobody is after me, enjoying the scenery on the other side of the windshield.
Where it should be. As it should be.
I'll die of this soemday.