If you’ve ever drank 12 cans of Mountain Dew on an empty stomach in the 4th of July heat and then tried to go to sleep, you have some idea of Frank’s caffeine dreams. He was flying towards the sun and he couldn’t slow down. The heat kept getting hotter and his hair was on fire. If he flew fast enough, he could shoot straight through and he tried. Now he was screaming. A cloud darkened the sun and torrents of rain put out the fire. He instantly felt better and the dark curtain of space was pulled aside revealing a bright morning. Frank was awake and he was also soaking wet.

“I tried slapping you, but you only screamed louder so I emptied my water bottle down your front. Are you okay?” The trucker asked.

Frank thought for a second. “Yeah, I think so.” His dream was fading, but his skin still felt like it was on fire. He looked at his arms. They were covered in little blisters and he realized that everything was half-real. He was in the in-between place and he wondered if finding the gold was a hallucination. He couldn’t check now, so he’d have to wait until he made it to the bank. The beast grunted up the next hill, forcing him back into his seat. All he saw was blue skies. Jordan down-shifted and the Semi lurched forward. It tilted over the next rise and cruised into the valley.

“You’ll find First City Bank in the center of town,” Jordan said. “I’ll drop you off near the ice cream parlor.” From up above, the valley was full of perfect designs. All of the houses were in neat little rows. The farms formed green and brown checkered patterns. And the roads leaving town disappeared into the distance. Before Frank knew it, the hydraulics gasped and the steel beast stopped.

“This is the end of the line,” Jordan said. Frank shook his three fingers once again. “You saved my life. Do you have a mailing address? I’d like to send you something heavy.”

“The road is where I live,” the trucker said. “But I do have a mail box near Betty’s drive-in. A man has to have a place to rest and read his mail.”

And with the exchange of a smile and the post address, Frank left. Some things can’t be put into words. The bank was standing right in front of him, but the ice cream parlor looked more inviting. He entered.

“Call the police,” gasped a middle-age man in a checkered polo shirt.

Frank ignored the desperate customer, enjoying his cherries jubilee. He always ordered three scoops. The towering ice cream threatened to fall and he ate it greedily. It was the only safe thing to do. He walked across the street to the bank to stand in one of the teller lines.

An elderly man in a black suit was pushing a note across a counter to a terrified teller. His eyes looked menacing.

Maybe everyone isn’t so nice in this town, Frank thought. He found a booth and slung his pack onto the counter. “I’d like to make a deposit.” He hadn’t noticed his leaking bag, but the menacing eyes had. They spotted the gold like a butler who cleans a mansion and tests for dust with a white glove.

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