[b]SARASOTA, FLORIDA
MARCH 21ST 13:06 PM[/b]

“I’d like a ticket to Grand Junction, Colorado, please.”
“Sure, thing, sir,” the Greyhound ticket vendor replied as he sat up a little to look at Greg Saunders more closely. “You’re not bringing any luggage, sir? It’s a long ride.”
“Won’t need it.”
“Alright. Well, bus leaves in about an hour, sir.”
Greg Saunders nodded, taking the ticket. As he turned to walk away, the ticket vendor spoke up again.
“I’m sorry, sir, but do you mind if I ask why you want to go to Colorado?”
Greg arched an eyebrow.
“Well, I mean,” the vendor hesitated at first, but then pushed through. “Sir, I imagine you’re as old as my grandpa and he’d hate to sit in a bus for three days, almost four. Honestly, I don’t think he could take it.”
“I’ll be fine, son. Thanks for the concern. I’ll just be visiting some old friends. They’ll take care of me.”
“Well, alright, sir, I hope you have a good trip.”
Greg tipped his hat. “Thanks.”

‘Old friends’, well, that was one way of putting it, Greg thought. He pulled out the letter from his shirt pocket and read it over again. Jimmy Leong, that son of a bitch, sending a letter all the way from China. Greg chuckled at that. He didn’t so much laugh at the contents though. Turned out Jimmy had a granddaughter still living in the States – the only part of the family left that hadn’t emigrated back to China with the rest of Leong’s – and now she looked to be in trouble. She hadn’t contacted any of her family in days. No calls, no e-mails, not a single Facebook update. A call to the police had just gotten Jimmy laughs. Sworn in officers of the law imitating Mickey Rooney, calling him a ‘fucking chink’ before hanging up. It was a disgrace.

Greg Saunders sighed, folded the letter again and walked into the small store in the bus stop’s hall. He picked up a few Cokes, some sandwiches and a few magazines. At the register, the elder cowboy got a strange look from the woman behind the counter, but she was too busy with her smartphone to engage in conversation. Just another weird old guy, she posted to her Twitterfeed while ringing him up. Look who lost his way to the rodeo.

Just as he was about to pay, Greg said: “Can you give me a pack of Chesterfields with that?”
“We don’t carry those, sir.”
Greg looked surprised. “You don’t have Chesterfields?”
“Never even seen ‘m. I’ve got Newports, if you want.”
Greg nodded. “And a lighter too.” He picked out a silver Zippo. “Thanks.”

As he left the store, Greg Saunders took out a cigarette and lit it. The first drag sent him into a cough. The second felt like coming home.
“I’m sorry, sir, but you can’t smoke in here.” It was the salesgirl.
“Why not?”
“It’s the law, sir.”
“Since when?”
She rolled her eyes. “Only like the last ten years or so.”
“I haven’t smoked in thirty.”
“Then why start up again?”

He shrugged.