Truth was waiting for him at Nowhere. A quick detour to the Farmer's Market for some fresh mushrooms. He had to stop at the Post Office then get gas before the long trip to Nowhere. He saved ice for last as he had forgotten the cooler. He was still tired and didn't sleep well last night after yesterday's events. As he placed the ice in the floorboard of his old truck, the smells from letters and parcels mingled with Morel mushrooms and fresh gas in his old truck. It was sunny, which made him an ant under a magnifying glass in the cab. He hoped he would get to Nowhere before the 15 pounds of ice ended up as a cold pool on the rubber floor mat.

The combined smells put him in mind of a new whiskey flavor, but with the spirit substituting for the gasoline. He smiled to himself and started the engine. He pulled out of the dusty parking lot and eased onto the highway that ran through town, top speed of 30 miles per hour. He recalled when they had first moved here, a state highway that had a tops speed of 30 MPH seemed quaint and backwards to him.

They. He still thought in terms of "they", but he was alone and headed to Nowhere. Nowhere was all he had. That wasn't exactly true, he had Truth. The dog had been a request from his daughter that he and his wife put off; chalking it up to a 13 year old's childish demands that would eventually wane. The relationship between wife and husband was strained. This strain had an effect on the son and daughter. The dog was a distraction technique, really. A band aid. The dog was a rescue of course because of his daughter's gentle heart. As a puppy they were inseparable the dog and the daughter. She had named him Major. He was part Shepard and part pit bull. A mutt. He followed her everywhere.

His name changed to Truth about the time his tail started bruising shins, knocking drinks off of tables, and tipping over houseplants. It was as though his tail was a blunt-force object designed to beat the truth outta you. That's also about the time he brought a snake home. It was still biting his snout, the last third of it's body curled around Major Truth's head like a lover. But the middle third was in Major's mouth. The tail of Truth wagging like he was a new papa. This effectively ended Major's relationship with his daughter as he was no longer allowed in the house. That is how Truth became his dog. Both relegated to the doghouse, one literally, the other figuratively.

The speed limit increased to 45 on the way out of town, then eventually 55. He would cruise the tangled moonshiner roads for 40 minutes before hitting a small hidden drive. He used the time to think about things. "Windshield time" he called it. He did some of his best thinking in that old truck. He imagined that he wasn't unique in that regard. He thought about how his children don't drive and shook his head. He felt sorry for them to some degree, but mostly he just didn't understand why they had no desire to drive. He loved it.

He thought back to how he got here. This was not where he imagined he would be just three years ago. He was driving all over the country to different sites as a hired gun. He worked in the tech industry as a Pen Tester. A Penetration Tester had caused his teenage son to snicker and he admitted to chuckling along with him when it was just the two of them. He could have done his job remotely, and sometimes he did. But he loved to drive. He told his boss the C-Sat was higher when he did the pen testing local to the client. The revenue numbers proved it out too. So he traveled 165 to 180 days a year.

All of the travel impacted his marriage. The last three years he reverted to performing all hacking activities remotely in an effort to save the relationship. It was too little too late. They parted amicably but it still hurt both of them. They were friendly. The relationship with his kids was okay, not great, not good. Like most things there were good days and there were not-so-good days.

She had moved back to the Ozarks to be close to family. They sold the house to split the equity equally. She was able to pay cash to have a house built on her parents farm. He followed 6 months later, missing his kids. He found a piece of land in the middle of nowhere, but there was a phone line adjacent to the property. He paid a hefty sum to have phone line ran 500 feet and built a house around it. Nowhere came later.

He built the metal building after an idea hatched during a night of drinking with her father. His father-in-law had turned into a surprising friend. They had always been friendly, but didn't really know each other. That all changed with proximity. Turns out his daughter married a man much like her father. There never was any kind of Freudian conversation about that.

His father-in-law became a drinking buddy. One of the best kinds of friends. Business was done. Secrets were shared. It turns out that both men valued secrets and the ability to keep a secret.

But now he owed him. Sean Walker was not the type of man who went into silly debt. He had never bought a brand new car, even when they could afford it. Student loans and mortgage was the only debt they liked to carry. He couldn't recall if that was the way Amy liked it or the way he liked it when they first got together. But it was how things ended up and it was still the way they both lived. As far as he knew since he doesn't talk finances with his ex-wife anymore.

She didn't even know that Sean owed her father anything. The loan had started out as a whiskey-fueled idea that was committed to under a blurry set of circumstances. When Sean had tried to give his father-in-law a way out a couple of days later, when they were both sober, he had scoffed. He seemed offended actually.

Sean had pulled up to the barn that Gene was working out of that day, the dust proceeding him into the entrance. Gene was welding on some implement that Sean didn't recognize but it appeared to be older that Gene. He wondered why he didn't just buy a new one. The look must have been on Sean's face. When Gene looked up, sweat that was content to dangle from his nose could not compete with the draw of gravity and fell to the ground, he answered an unasked question. "They don't make them like this anymore. No, I mean it!" In response to Sean's smirk. "The steel they use these days isn't as pure. Everything is recycled and mixed with raw to form something that isn't as pure. Or as good. Or strong."

Sean splayed his hands as if to say that he hadn't said anything.

He put that aside as he was approaching Nowhere. Twenty-four hours later, he hoped that today would be better. Normal.

"Hey, Gene, listen. I know you thought that parlaying the still into a speakeasy was a grand idea the other day."

"You make some damn good 'shine, son." Gene interrupted the way that friends grab openings but indicate you should still continue with what you were saying.

Sean ignored that he had called it 'moonshine', tried not to bristle and carried on. "But, I don't really want to be in debt for something silly. So I'm going to put that off for a while and save up some more. But thanks for the offer." Hoping that sounded like the end of the conversation. He knew he should have changed the subject instead of ending it. Now it seemed like a challenge instead of a statement of fact and feeling.

"Aw, whatsa matter? You don't want ol' Gene to have a piece of the action? You afraid I'm gonna take every thing from ya if shit goes south? I gave generous terms: I loan this to you, you pay me back plus ten grand. Isn't that fair?"

"Of course it is, Gene, we both know it is."

"Then what's the problem? What's eatin' at you?"

"Just the principle of being in debt for something frivolous. Regardless of who the debt is owed to. I can wait and save, then open the speakeasy in a few years with no debt."

"A few years! How much hooch you sellin, boy?"

"I told you how much, Gene. Remember?"

"Yeah, I remember. If that is the truth its gonna take you a hell of a lot longer than a few years."

Gene was right. But Sean was hopeful that he could find a distributor that would pick up his line of whiskey. Then a bar wouldn't be necessary. He could just retire. That was the plan. He didn't need much maybe one point two or one point three million. He could live off that maybe eighteen grand a year.

"Look, Sean. I know you. I know you want to go off and retire. You got some plan back in your brain. What are you? Forty-two? Forty-five? You're way too young to retire. What would you do with yourself? Set yourself up with a bar and set it up where you make booze and the joint runs itself. It'd be like retirement, 'cept theres always something to do. Like running a farm!"

Gene oversaw a crew of six full time hands and brought in four to six more during harvest. He didn't actually work as much as thought and gave orders. Which was a ton of work, but he'd been doing it so long he had it down pat. He was a good employer too. Everybody that worked for him had been there at least three years. The newest hand was pulled from the seasonal help, as was his pattern. He only filled that position because his senior most hand bought a farm of his own. The truth of the matter is Gene spent three or four afternoons a week over at Sean's place. "Helping".

"forty-nine"

A sideways look from Gene, but he continued, "Besides, you'd be doing me a favor. I only added the ten thousand repayment to make you happy. I'd loan you the money for free. I know damn well that you're good for it. Besides I'll be drinking some of my share."

"I know, Gene. And I appreciate that. I just don't want to be in debt."

"C'mon up to the house. We'll set at the table and have a tea and talk about it some more."

Sean could see that Gene wasn't going to give up. But tea at the table around this time of day meant supper soon. He'd probably get invited to stay. He followed Gene up to the house. It had gone on this way for weeks.

Sean pulled into the hidden drive that he shared with the property adjoining his. He was less than two miles as the crow flies to his place. It took him another fifteen minutes down a one lane rocky fire-break type dirt road until he see the mixed metal of Nowhere through the trees. Up on past the speakeasy on a hill that you couldn't see from here was where Sean had built his home. A small holding was all he needed.

Gene had built Nowhere on Sean's property right in front of the still. Sean remembered the first time he'd come home and seen the concrete poured and setting. He'd gone on a business trip. He still did pen testing, but it was all remote now. This trip had been a scheduled quarterly business review and performance review. He had been gone three days. He had picked up Truth from Amy's place on his way home. Truth started barking before they had gotten to within a quarter mile of the homestead. Sean noticed the clean pale cement. He couldn't miss it. Nowhere was small, relatively speaking, but a large fresh pour of concrete with plumbing stubbed in and a new electrical box bolted to short version of a telephone pole next to where he usually brewed whiskey, was hard to miss.