Van Jacker

The sliding back door was closed and something hard and cold was pressed up against my temple; it was a gun, held by the new-comer.
“Drive. Just drive.”
“Where to?” I asked, without a quaver. I'm real good at making myself sound calm when on the inside I'm jello and coolwhip.
“Just drive, tubby.” He said curtly, and nudged my head with the gun. That was a low blow, insulting my weight. He's in MY van without my permission and I'm driving him to god-knows where out of the goodness of my heart, and the coldness of his gun, I guess. I mean, It wasn't not the first time, and certainly not the last, that I got called tubby, so I guess I can take it.
There was silence for a bit, but I don't like silence. It makes me uncomfortable. So I turned on the radio, to my favorite talk-station. He looked at me, then at the radio, then back at me. He removed the gun temporarily from my temple, shot at the radio, then he was back. The talk show was no longer identifiable, but a loud, monotonous hum was emitted through the speakers. He was obviously not a fan so I shut it off, but that silence was really killing me, so I decided to start some conversation. I mean if we're going to be road-tripping, we might as well make friends, right?
“So uhh... you got kids?” I ask. First thing off the bat I like to do when I meet someone new is find out if they got a social life. See, in my world, there's two kinds of people. People who get laid, and people like me. You can't just go out and ask if they get laid, so you go for if they got kids. It's pretty ingenius, when you think about it. But he just snorted as a reply. That can mean one of two things. It could mean that he gets so many chicks that he's never going to settle down and have a family. Or, it could mean that he's a virgin loser who had even less of a chance of settling down. As I thought this, I happened to glance in the mirror. There was a big old pimple right smack-dab in the middle of my forehead. It was the white kind, the kind that pops real well. I couldn't help it, I had to do it.
“Hey, you mind if I pull over for a second? Medical emergency.” I say.
“Yeah I've heard that one before. Drive on, fat-boy.” I shrugged. It was just a pity because the best part of pimple-popping is watching it all go down in the mirror. But I couldn't just leave that big guy sitting on my forehead, so I popped it right there.
“Ahh! What the...?” Apparently my companion hadn't expected that.
“Don't tell me you've never popped a pimple before.” I smiled at him. I could tell he was looking at my teeth, rotted from too much soda.
“Not since high school, bub. How old are you, thirty five? That acne shit's suppose to end with puberty.”
“Yeah well. One of the occupational hazards of being a fat-ass, I guess.”
“Naw man, it ain't just your weight. Maybe if you cleaned your face once in a while, or took a shower, for christ's sake. When was the last time you took a shower? Tuesday?” I can only imagine he was joking, as it was currently Monday.
“Last Sunday, actually.” And I wasn't joking, neither.
“Yeah, I can smell- I mean tell.” He sneered. To be honest, I wasn't even offended. I did smell a bit, after all. We were both quiet, and a guess I started picking my nose. It's really just a habitual thing, something I do without even thinking about it. I don't think either of us noticed I was doing it until I flicked it right into my escort's face. He was pissed. He was really really pissed. I don't think I've ever seen anyone go this red, and I come from a florid family.
“Pull over, bub.” He seethed.
“Alright, no problem. You know what, I'm kinda hungry. Wanna go stop at McDonalds? Better yet, lets do drive-through. I don't mind eating in the car.” This was evident by the immense pile fast food disposal that covered the passenger seat.
He grimaced and shook his head. “Naw tub, right here's good. Just let me the fuck out.”
I did as he said and pulled over, right by the side of the highway. He got out and breathed the fresh air like he'd never been outside in his god-damn life before. I waved goodbye then drove on off. I wondered why he left. I was a little sad, to be honest. It was nice to have some company. The van was silent, and I don't do silent. So I turned on the radio. It was just a hum, a single tone, but it was better then the silence.