Start Fiction:
Nate walked down the center of the highway. Toeing the centerline as though he was walking the tracks. No cars had passed in over a half hour, and no city lights came any closer.
He lit a cigarette, illuminating the highway around him. He took a long drag. A cow mooed to his right, faintly.
Nate closed his eyes and listened to the silence. Early spring kept the critters at bay; it was truly silent.
He strolled down the highway, kind of sauntering. Nate had no where to be, no one waiting for him; nothing to do, period.
He imagined he was stranded on the continent by himself; perhaps an unknown continent. He could be near a river, the ocean, or neither.
Nate stopped walking and sat down on the highway. He looked towards the stars, let out a large puff of smoke. It disipated slowly in the still night air.
"Perhaps being alone wouldn't be so bad," he said aloud.
The cow mooed again, seemingly agreeing with Nate.
End Fiction.
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