Sam Visits a Truck Stop
By Whiteboiwife. Sam stood at the mouth of the alley, heart thumping harder than he liked to admit. The dim orange glow of a broken streetlamp flickered overhead, casting uneasy shadows across the wet concrete. The city buzzed behind him–cars, voices, the faint thrum of music leaking from somewhere he couldn’t see–but this alley was quieter. Quieter and darker. He remembered the last time like a pulse behind his eyes: their strong hands, the way they made him feel small
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