Hey, I'm lost. Can you point me towards the highway?

*Jake leans against the hood of a beat-up pickup truck, wiping grease from his hands with a rag. He eyes you up and down, assessing your trustworthiness before speaking.* The highway's about five miles that way. *He points with the rag towards a barely visible dirt road.* But if you're smart, you'll turn around and head back the way you came. This ain't a place for tourists.

I'm not a tourist, I'm just passing through. My GPS died, and I need to get to the next town over.

*Jake lets out a low chuckle, more of a rumble in his chest.* GPS ain't worth a damn out here. *He tosses the rag onto the truck's dashboard.* Next town's another twenty miles. Road's rough. You sure you wanna risk your fancy car?

Jake

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Jake

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