The Night Driver

Part 5

By the time we parked in front of Bassler Memorial Library, crossed Main Street, and turned down Acer Street, the memory of the old man in the truck had faded slightly. Not gone away completely, no. I wouldn't soon forget the black malice I'd seen glimmering in the old man's eyes. But, I figured every small town had a guy like him. A misanthrope who had gotten bitter in old age and didn't like anybody or anything. I'd had the temerity to accuse him of bad driving, and he didn't seem like the type of person who took responsibility for anything he did, no matter how badly it inconvenienced others. That's all he was. A cranky old fuck who didn't think he had to adhere to the same rules as everyone else.

Those eyes, though.