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    The gas tank wasn't completely empty, but he had had enough. Tiny drops of water had  begun to hit the soft colored car that was parked along the side of an open-stretch highway.  The sun was there but was hidden by dark storm clouds that peered over the color-washed  canyon. He let his head be cradled in the leather steering wheel while holding himself,  blocking out the cold. He sat in the middle of the storm hoping that the car would somehow  swallow him, either through implosion or sheer disappearance.
    The car smelled of day-old black coffee and cold, blue leather. The seat belt fit  snuggly around his chest, which was wrapped in a beige sports coat and black sweater vest. He  ran his dirty, tear-stained fingers through his wispy, brown hair before he clutched the  side handle and kicked open the driver's-side-door. Legs covered by greasy, dark-brown pants  began to slowly make its way out car and into the rain. There was nothing particularly  interesting about this slightly stubbled man. He had no glasses to frame his face, no cap to  protect his head, and wasn't wearing any interesting shoes. But at least he was wet. It  wasn't the sort of originality he was searching for, but he took whatever he could get. He  watched raindrops fall onto the dirty highway road like bullets against bone. His pasty-white skin seemed to run down his cheeks when combined with the frigid cold water.
     He sighed and turned away from the mesmerizing canyon and head back into the car. He shut the door, started the ignition, and watched the gas meter fly toward an unforgiving, white "E." He'd only get 20 minutes up the road, but it was worth it. He turned on the radio and headed north, never to return again. He left no clues behind as to why he was driving, but she wouldn't miss him anyway.