Work Text:
10.06.
The open road. The sun’s glare, muted by the windshield’s speckled glass. The silhouette of boots on the dashboard, laces undone, hanging.
Another. Collie’s wide hands, spanning the sides of the steering wheel. His face is turned towards the camera, eyes half-closed like they’ve been caught in the moving shutter.
11.06. 3:19 p.m.
Collie, holding a ripped map. His brows meet each other in a frown.
A second photo, one eyebrow quirked in the camera’s direction. The grin on his face bares a row of white teeth.
click.
Gary’s voice sounds as soon as the video switches on. “Dumbass doesn't even know where we’re going.”
The screen swivels to Collie’s shut eyes. He breathes out a sigh, gripping the paper. “I know where we’re going, smartass.” A pause. “And where we are.”
Gary’s laughter fills the air as the camera shuts off.
4:52 p.m.
Gary again, eyes open wide. Crumbs dot his mouth, a shedding donut in one hand. The other gestures wildly in some silent protest.
15.06. 7.22 a.m.
A plate of pancakes on a grease-spotted tablecloth, brimming with ripe berries. Light beams thrown off a glass coke bottle. An orange-striped tail woven around a leg. A crumpled napkin resting in an ash tray.
10.08 a.m.
click.
The fuzzy outline of a rat skulks next to an overflowing trashbin. There’s a mutter behind the camera, “...fuckin’ rabies.”
A different voice, gruffer. “...kinda looks like you, Barkovitch.”
The camera jogs dangerously as there's scuffling behind the frame.
11.00 a.m.
Back on the road. The photo’s angled over Collie turning up the radio. Denim strains across his back, and he’s in the middle of a song.
16.06. 8:39 p.m.
The first that day is of Gary; he’s standing in front of the truck with his hands on his hips, squinting into the distance. The next: his hands held up, blurred as he moves towards the camera.
Then the cloud-clustered sky, reduced to blue static under illumination. The fourth: the ends of a blanket, creased to fit the back of the truck.
00:07 a.m.
click.
The video dims, then sharpens. It’s Collie, cigarette slotted between his fingers. There’s an exhale, and grey smoke dances into the sky.
Gary, cattily: “Collie’s burnin’ up his lungs.”
The offender grins, hand snatching out.
19.06. 1.44 p.m.
A close-up of a creek: foam, pebbles, a bleeding sunset. A streak of black leather in the corner. Then, hazy, unfocused, rushed, Gary in the water, face screwed up in a scowl. Another of him getting up. Two more of him squeezing the mulch out of his cuffs, pushing the stringy wet hair out of his face. One of him flipping the bird, and he’s not laughing. (He's laughing a little.)
2:13 p.m.
click.
The frame opens onto Gary’s forehead. He’s asking Collie if he’s in view.
Collie glances over. “Barely.”
Gary leans into the camera. His voice turns muffled as a nostril swallows the lens.
“I. Hate. Roadtrips. Bye.”
The video cuts just as Collie utters a retort.
22.06.
Mountain greenery makes up the grainy shot of a postcard, zoomed in.
click.
The frame skips over a crowded souvenir shop. Flimsy t-shirts line the walls, and there’s a hissed “ouch” as a pointed elbow knocks into a wall of mugs.
It comes to rest on Collie. He’s pinching some overpriced trinket. Mouths, “fuckin’ scam” at the lens.
26.06. 10.48 a.m.
A field, waist-high grasses braiding into each other. Weeds bloom out of the gravel in brilliant shades.
12.32 p.m.
A horizontal snapshot of Collie’s head in someone’s lap. He’s sleeping, lashes dusting the top of his flushed cheeks. A violet peeks from behind his ear.
5.57 p.m.
click.
Rain gushes from the sky, words fizzing out in the background. The frame slips, and two interlaced hands flash across the screen before fading into shadows.
30.06.
click.
Collie, sitting in the trunk, softly strumming a guitar. He looks up, lips forming around three words. The camera jerks involuntarily. Collie just grins and goes back to playing.