I'll Just Tell Like It Happened

"I won't fall for it. I'll keep driving until I don't know," Alice says as she tries to find the thistleman from a gas station two months ago. "Where would you even go that I couldn't follow? Don't you know who I work for?" asks the man with yellow fingernails, skin that didn't fit right and teeth not sharp enough to be fangs. He was sweating a thick pungent mildew; he smelled like decay. The boxes of paper towels were torn to shreds like they'd been attacked by a huge cat.