Disclaimer: MST3K and all charries therein belong to BBI.  No profit is being made (sadly) by the writing of these stories.

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The 350 small block came to life reluctantly, sputtered, then stalled.  He hit the gas pedal a couple of times, and tried again.

This time it stayed running, though it sounded like it was just as unhappy about moving at this hour as he was.  The sun hadn't even come over the horizon yet; the sky was ready for it, painted in pink and orange, but it was as reluctant to start the day as Mike and his Pontiac.

He huffed out a breath of air that turned to mist, cranked the defroster all the way on, and waited for a short eternity while the car warmed up enough to burn the frost off of the windshield.  It was too early for this; too early to crawl out of his nice warm bed, too early to stumble half-asleep through a shower, and way the Hell too early to actually go out into the world.  He hadn't even been able to brew a pot of coffee... well, he wouldn't have had time to brew the pot of coffee if he actually could have afforded to buy a can.  On top of all of that, it was Sunday and he had to work on a day that he could have spent laying on the couch watching television.

Such was the life of a minimum-wage employee.

The frost was burning off from the bottom of the windshield up, an ever-widening circle.  Mike waited until it was big enough to turn the wipers on, which gave him some area to see out of, before putting the car in gear.  He figured he had about a week before he had to spring for a new clutch, thereby ruining his chances of buying coffee for the next couple of months.

He hadn't really thought twice about buying the old Trans Am, not even when the guy who sold it to him smiled and showed he was missing most of his front teeth.  Mike had wanted a '78 Trans Am when he first saw one, and had never given up on that dream, so when the chance presented itself, he took it.  Sure, it could use a little work, but he finally owned one.

Okay, a lot of work.

He loved the car anyway.

Now that it had warmed up, the Pontiac was more amiable to movement, and they both headed for Eden Prairie.  It was a bit of a hike, but he had gotten the drive down pretty quickly and traffic would be light.

First things first, though.  He pulled off at the same gas station he always did when he had to go west, leaving the old car run as he jogged in.

"Morning, Mike."

"Morning, Darlene," he replied, tossing a wave to the cashier as he made for the coffee counter.  Mercifully, the coffee was already brewed and ready.  He poured a cup, fixed it up, and went back to the counter to pay for it.  Until he could spring for a whole can of coffee, he'd have to resign himself to sacrificing some laundry money for the caffeine fix.

Darlene just shook her head. "You pull out that wallet, I'm gonna beat you with a carton of cigarettes."

"Oh, geez." Mike sighed, likewise shaking his head, "If you don't let me pay for it, I'll feel all guilty about it and it'll ruin my day."

"And if I do, I'll feel guilty about it!"  She waved him off. "Get out of here."

They went through this fairly often.  Mike thought about picking another place to stop, but in the end, he liked having someone know his name.  On mornings where he wasn't in a rush, he'd hang around for a few minutes and they'd talk.  It was almost like being home -- both of them came from smaller, slower places.  If she were fifteen years younger, he might've even asked her out.

"Next time," he finally said, knowing he was fighting a losing battle, and saluted her with the coffee cup.

"Fair enough," she answered, and watched him walk out the door.

He was still a little conflicted about it when he got back in the car, but in the end, he just accepted the courtesy for what it was and tried to shove the legendary Midwestern guilt out of his thoughts.  Back home, you took care of your neighbors and friends; it was a given.  And you agonized over them taking care of you; that was also a given.  They both came from different towns, but they came from the same people, and that was enough to make them neighbors.

He felt a little better after a few sips of coffee, and the old Pontiac had warmed up enough to actually be cozy.  The sun was finally up, though still low and orange, and it was easy to start getting optimistic about life.

He had just turned twenty-eight, and even though he wasn't exactly where he expected to be, Mike was relatively content.  Sure, his apartment was old and still cost too much, and sure, he couldn't even afford to buy a proper can of coffee, but life wasn't too bad.  Next weekend he'd be done with this assignment, and he could go back home, or go for a drive, or just lay around on the couch and watch television.

The sky was getting steadily brighter, and the intermittent stretches of open fields were gold in the light; tall grass that grew at the end of summer and dried.  It was shaping up to be a beautiful day, the kind that wouldn't be seen again once winter set in.

For a long moment he thought about just driving on.  Keep going west.  Maybe go see Puget Sound.  The old car would make it that far, if he was careful with it.  Go to the Pacific, then turn around and go see the Atlantic, and then wander back to Wisconsin with a few more miles on the odometer, and road dust on his sneakers.

It was a simple kind of daydream; nothing big, nothing fancy.  Just simple.

Just a dream.

It was a nice dream, though, so he followed it for awhile, even though he kept going to where he was supposed to go.  He knew perfectly well that he would go back to his apartment tonight, and wake up tomorrow, and not let Darlene give him any coffee, and do this all over again.  But the dream was nice enough, and he was glad to have it.

The parking lot was eerily empty; there were only a handful of cars there.  On the upside, though, he could actually park somewhat close to the towering building.  The sun was bright now, warming the air a little bit, and when Mike stepped out of the Trans Am with his cup of coffee, he felt pretty much equal to the day ahead despite the fact he'd gotten assigned to work for nutcases.

He didn't lock the Pontiac, just left it there.  No one was going to steal it.

Before he stepped into the big Gizmonics building, he looked up at the pale October sky.  It was going to be a beautiful day; the perfect day to just point yourself in one direction and drive.

Maybe next weekend.