“Pull in there,” he said. “I need to piss.” Tate took a left at the stop sign and pulled into the parking lot of an old run-down liquor store on the corner. Various beer and whiskey advertisements completely covered the windows. An ice cooler sat beside the front door with a faded polar bear plastered on the side. There was only one car parked outside, on the edge of the building underneath a metal carport. It was probably the owner’s car. “Hurry up!” Tate shouted out the Jeep window as Caleb walked quickly inside. I heard the faint ringing of a bell when he swung open the door. The three of us sat in silence for a moment. Bray had almost fallen asleep before we stopped. “Are you two hungry?” Tate asked. “No, man, I’m good,” I said and then looked down at Bray as she sat against me with her head on my shoulder. “I’m not hungry,” she said. “You sure? I can run in and get you a stick of jerky or something.” Tate offered. He was turned around in the driver’s seat and facing us, with his right hand wedged behind the headrest of the passenger’s seat.
