LUKE’S P.O.VI drive around for what feels like hours, eyes burning from exhaustion while I look for a place to sleep for the night.But the nearest motel is way out of town, and I’m not allowed out to exceed my fifty-kilometre radius. I don’t even bother checking in. I have no money, no ID that the police didn’t take, and the last thing I need is someone recognising me as the disgraced star player who just confessed to leaking his girlfriend’s sex tapes. Eventually, I give up, and so does my car, because the gas tank is empty. With what’s left of the gas, I find a quiet, poorly lit spot behind an old warehouse on the edge of town and kill the engine. I climb into the backseat, folding my tall frame as best I can, and use my hoodie as a pillow. The leather is cold against my skin. Sleep doesn’t come easy, but eventually the exhaustion wins.The sharp sound of an alarm cuts through the silence the next morning.I jolt awake, disoriented, banging my knee against the seat in front of me
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