The gravel crunched under the tires of the old Ford as Silas pulled onto the shoulder of Highway 61. He didn’t stop because of a breakdown; he stopped because the sky looked like a bruised plum, and the air felt heavy with a secret.
The light drew closer, and Silas reached into the car to turn the volume up, letting the song anchor him to the earth while he waited for the sky to open. Jesus Gonna Be Here
A pair of headlights appeared in the distance, shimmering through the heat haze. They didn't move like a car; they drifted, slow and steady, like a lantern carried by a walker. The gravel crunched under the tires of the