018 POV - outside pharmacy 663

We drive in silence keeping to back streets. There's no another soul in sight. The neighbourhood we're driving through is mostly industrial warehouses that service Newark Liberty international airport. The clientele at the restaurant are primarily travellers. Mostly businessmen and women on their way from and to untold destinations. Over the last year of working there I've come to recognise a fair few of the faces. I've never spoken to any of them of course, only ever observed them from my hot-box kitchen. I play a game with myself, trying to guess what their lives are. What their individual careers are. What their passions are. What drives them to travel the country and the world in the way they do. Seeing these people day in and day out is what made me want to focus on getting a business degree and setting up something of my own. To me, international and national travel for the purpose of business is exciting. The unknown of a new destination and who you will meet there. I know that for some people the idea of regular travel by plane is a nightmare, but to me, it would be exhilarating.

'Turn left here.' The man commands. And I do. He's growing paler by the minute. His face is drained of blood giving his skin a ghost-like effect.

I glance at him. He's probably in his late fifties. Though being wounded the way he is and just having survived a harrowing car crash definitely ages him some. If he were scrubbed up and in good health he would look younger than he does right now. He wears no rings on his fingers. No wedding band. He's dressed well. Well, he was. Before the crash. His clothes are torn and dirty as hell, but they're not cheap, I can tell even in their current state. He wears a Rolex. Fake? Maybe? The forgeries are so well done these days I can never tell from a cursory glance alone. For some reason I don't think he's the sort of person to wear a fake watch. There's something very telling about the personality deficit in people who insist on wearing fake designer clothes and accessories. It means they want to be held in high regard by people who ascribe a higher importance to the size of bank balance over content of character. He's got a solid five o'clock shadow, which means he was probably clean shaven this morning. He has short well maintained dark hair that has seen far better days that right now.

'Turn here.' He commands. I do, and it takes us onto a main road. My heart rate quickens despite there being very little traffic. 

The man's threat of violence should we be stopped by police is prominent in my mind. I wonder why he's guided us onto a road where there's likely to be far more people, and consequently a much higher chance of either a police car seeing us, or a concerned civilian seeing the terrible state my car is in and phoning it in.  

'Is it wise to be on a main road?' I ask.

'Probably not, but we don't have any choice. Besides, we won't be here for long.'

'Where exactly are we going?'

He nods at the road ahead, 'Pull over directly in front of that pharmacy.'

I look up at the bright lights of the drug store he means. 

'You sure you wouldn't rather I park on a side street, somewhere less obvious?'

'No. Park right in front.'

I'm not about to argue the point so I do as I'm told. 

I turn the engine off and ask, 'What now?'

'Now, you're going to go in there and get medical supplies.' 

'Okay.' I say meekly. Then something crosses my mind. 'I don't have any money, though?'

'You won't need any.' He says, as if this should be obvious. 'You're going to rob them.'