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...omplacent with their lives.

When the sound of another car drifted up from the highway, his spirits lifted and he began to whistle a tune. He couldn’t remember the name of the tune…

He couldn’t remember the name of the tune, but he liked it all the same. Low, slow and soothing, then up to a spine-tingling crescendo with the moist crackle of bones as the car came to rest upon the hitchhiker’s body. Johnny could no longer whistle through his grin. He loved that sound.

He put the car back into drive, and drove on.

Tomorrow. Penthouse balcony, or bell tower?

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