Talking to himself had never been so animated. K gesticulated as his mouth moved in silence. The road was empty, and he let his mind wander back to previous conversations enough that he began to say in silence what he thought he should have said. "At least I'm not a dick who gets off on tormenting the mentally handicapped!" Yeah, that would have shown them. That would have been satisfying, to show them they were picking on the developmentally delayed. His artificial smugness faded as he spotted something on the road ahead, and he rapidly closed his mouth and forced a neutral expression as he tried to identify what he saw as his arms hung awkwardly at his sides. As he came closer, he saw it was a town, and he swallowed past his dry throat. He began to walk faster, ignoring the signs in his body that he was pushing too hard. He ignored the tingling and tight sunburn on his face, and his sandpaper-dry mouth and throat. He'd avoided the last town because he didn't have the energy for interaction, but today, right now, he wanted to beg for a bottle of water and use a real bathroom at least. Maybe eat something. Thoughts of sour cream and onion potato chips, of bread, and of apple juice or milk teased at his mind and pulled him along despite rapidly numbing legs. He passed a few suburban homes, and as the sun turned the world golden around him, he began to approach a gas station. His hand touched the door, and as a wave of relief flooded him, it pushed his needs to the fore, and in the briefest instant, he lost consciousness all at once.