Touch the Truck
By late on the 3rd night of the MegaCarPlaza Touch the Truck competition, the original 20 competitors were down to 5 people in varying states of physical and psychological decay. They swayed on their feet in the dark parking lot under a sky just starting to show a hint of dawn to the east. Robert and Bethany standing at the hood had formed an alliance and were helping to keep each other conscious. They were young enough that their bodies were likely holding out better than those of their middle-aged rivals. Kelly laying hands along the truck bed at driver’s side rear had the advantage of being accustomed to working up to 10-hour shifts on her feet as a checker at the Red Apple, but staying awake for well over 60 hours was not a skill she had honed, and the line between reality and delirium was an undulating line curiously resembling the flared rear wheel fender of a sand dune metallic Chevrolet Colorado. Meanwhile, tall, stoic Carl stood unflappable as ever – perhaps even meditative – standing across from Kelly at passenger side rear, next to the loose cannon of the bunch: stout, white-bearded Mike. Mike wasn’t letting on that he was tired, but his silence betrayed him. He was taking a momentary break from his ongoing campaign to psyche out the competition by touting the grit and determination he had developed as a combat marine, and his desperate need to prevail in the competition for his beloved family.