A Pickup Truck

Out of instinct Alex stuck out her thumb. The last time she hitchhiked was about never years ago and it didn’t work then so… why the hell not.

The vehicle that came around the bend (I’m trying real hard not to make a CCR reference here) was an old white toyota pickup. The vehicle probably had never seen better days, but was one of those small pickups that never die. Each little crack in the paint, each dent, each chip of the windshield told a story; about when the person behind the wheel drove for first time, about near that secluded trail where they lost their virginity to Susie Q, about when they got their first real job and had to pay taxes.

But the driver was not as old as the truck. In fact the driver probably was the one convinced in the truck when his would be parents decided to have a little whoopie to the classic rock station’s music. My guess is that the act lasted as long as CCR song, so about 2 minutes. 20 years later we have this strapping young man driving the truck. He had a leather jacket he found at a thrift store covering the hoodie that he had since high school.

Gamora nudged Alex as the driver tried to pull to the side of the road: the vehicle made a horrible screech and jerked a little bit as it came to a stop. “I don’t think that is his automobile.”

“Normally we just call them cars,” Alex replied. Alex looked Gamora up a down: she was green skinned, green haired, golden eyed, and wearing no underwear. Ever since Cyclops started up his ‘mutant revolution’ things were getting tense around the country. There was no way to hide Gamora’s looks, so Alex would have to embrace them: people would think Gamora is a mutant and treat her and Alex as such. Oh and Alex had a blue gem stuck in her head that looked like either a wild fashion statement or a sign of mutation herself. The fact that this person stopped for them was a good sign, but then again this may be an attempt at a trap of some sort.