Hot Dog, Pink Lotus

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They stop at the servo before beginning the death strip. A section of road Erica’s always hated driving, four hours with not a kink in it.

‘This place is weird,’ says Jane, her daughter, tucking her long hair behind her ears in the exact same way she did as a child. She nods to the attendant they can see through the glass. He’s staring at them.

‘Come on, this place could make anyone crazy,’ Erica says.

They get out of the old Jeep. It is steaming up in there. Everything she’s brought with her is damp. It was pouring when they left. The kind of rain that’s heavy enough to divide two people, even when they’re standing close. The back of the car is filled with bags she packed quickly and without thought.


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