Hungry Heart

He zipped up his coat, grabbed the keys to their Subaru Outback, and left, slamming the front door behind him. It was just another argument. He’d be back.

At least that’s what his wife and kids thought.

As he reached with a gloved left hand for the handle to the driver’s side door, he paused. He dropped his hand, walked to the corner, took a right and just kept going.

“Had a wife and kids in Baltimore, Jack. I went out for a ride and never looked back.”

He smiled weakly at the recollection of the old “Boss” tune.

It was one thing to pump your fist to “Hungry Heart” at a Springsteen concert, fantasize about what it might be like to walk away one day on a whim and never look back. It was quite another to actually do it.

He pulled his phone from his pocket. Notifications from apps he rarely used and for emails he didn’t give a damn about. He swiped twice to the right and found Uber. His thumb hovered above the app icon. He sighed and looked down the street through a lightly falling snow. In the foggy distance a few blocks down, he saw a marquee too blurry to read from that distance and several other lighted signs and street lamps. They’d lived in the neighborhood for four years, but between long hours at work and the constant drama at home, he really hadn’t been out much and knew embarrassingly little about the area.

The first establishment he encountered was “Liberty Bar & Grill.” He raised his hand to his forehead and leaned in toward the window. On the large television above the bar, the Flyers were losing — again — to the Penguins. Two bearded men and a petite blond in a low-cut top and short black leather skirt shot pool in the back. Along the L-shaped bar, groups of three or four drank draft beer, laughing a bit too exuberantly at anecdotes that weren’t that amusing — booze does wonders that way.

Brett thought about going in. A couple of drinks and then the inevitable walk back home.

Nah. Not this time.

He pulled his phone out again and requested an Uber for 30th Street Station. 10 minutes. $14.

He spotted an ATM on the corner and pulled out $300. Fucking $3 surcharge. This is why he always pulled money out at 7-Eleven. No-fee ATM machines.

In a few minutes, the Toyota Camry plate #DOA-670 pulled up. He got in.

Arriving at the station, he stood staring at the arrivals/departures board. So many choices, none more attractive than the next. Just get lost.

He walked up to the counter.

“Where to?”

“Seattle.”

“How many bags are you checking?”

“None.”

The mustachioed fortysomething behind the terminal paused and looked up for a moment.

Brett pushed his American Express card across the counter.

“Thanks.”

“Have a good trip.”