The Rest Stop Story

The following fills in the blanks from the end of yesterday's entry. It's a fictionalized account of what really happened, and the only thing that makes it fiction is that it's told in 3rd person, and that the character's name is not the same as mine. Beyond that, it's true. Not that's it's so crazy a story that you'd assume I made it up, but I figured I should tell you. Read it and learn from the mistakes I didn't make.
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It was two PM on a clear and mild Midwest day, and it surprised Prescott a little that so few cars were in the parking lot; every other rest area at which he'd stopped thus far had been fairly packed with travelers. Too worn down to bother being apprehensive, Prescott got himself together and walked down to the men's room.

The men's room was even emptier than the parking lot; that is to say, it was empty save for Prescott. As he relieved himself in a urinal, though, he heard people come in, which, in addition to his now empty bladder, made him feel more at ease. He finished up and went to the sink to wash his hands. As he did so, another guy, probably somewhere close to Prescott's age, began to wash his hands at the adjacent sink. Prescott paid him no mind. Then, as he rinsed off the latherless pink soap, Prescott felt a tiny drop of water hit his chin. He glanced sidewise in time to see the kid at the next sink flicking an index finger through the stream of water, in Prescott's direction. Prescott kept his half-glance on the guy just long enough for the guy to see that he was aware of what was going on. "Damn flies," responded the guy. "Always going where they're not wanted."

"I hear ya," said Prescott, not sure if he was supposed to be scared. He continued to rinse his hands and gave the restroom a quick, surreptitious scan. Standing by the door, his back to Prescott and his front facing nothing that was worth facing, was another guy. The guy by the door's arms were in front of him, and Prescott now began to get nervous. "There's no reason," he quickly thought, "for someone to be in that position unless he's preparing to spin around and grab someone. These two are a team, and for some reason they don't care much for me." Pretending that nothing out of the ordinary was going on, Prescott calmly dried his hands, threw the damp paper towel in the trash, and made his way leisurely to the door. He pushed it open and began to step back out into safety.

"Watch yourself, now," urged the guy at the sink. Prescott just kept walking until the door swung shut. Then, seeing that the rest area was still all but deserted, he dashed to his car, got in, and locked the doors. He caught his breath and drove off, shaking.

The end.