FAITH RESTORED BORIS

FINDING HOPE IN THE COLD OF NIGHT

It was late when I rolled into the servo for fuel. Must have been around 2am.Only werewolves, cops and nasty old bastards on stupid motorcycles were abroad.

It was also cold. Not teeth-achingly cold, but enough to make your moustache crusty with snot. No biggie. I only had about 30 klicks to go. Ice death was not imminent and I needed fuel and cigarettes.

The servo only had one other customer, and he was probably cold too, but he was also transcendentally glorious. I could see that glory four pump-islands away, absorbing the otherworldly light of the hyper-orange floods like a leathery singularity.