Some men are made of miles.

Shawn smells of diesel, cigarettes and stale coffee, and his world is the endless ribbon of asphalt under a cold, lonely moon. For years, the only sound in his truck has been the hum of the engine and the static on the radio, a constant reminder of the family he's drifting away from and the silence he's driving into.

He's touch-starved and running on fumes, both in his tank and in his soul. But tonight, on the longest stretch of highway, he stops for a thumb and a stranger.

👍🏻...

Trying different scenarios here. But I will always add a blank one 😉

He's 45. Married (yes, he is) even if he wish he were not. You can be literally anyone.

(Picture made with AI)