The sun was blazing and the asphalt pavement was burning a hole through the soles of Terry’s sneakers as he walked alongside of the highway. Usually it did not take so long to get picked up but today it was taking forever.

It has been a lifelong dream to hitchhike his way across the country on Route 66. And until today it had been going really well. Beginning in Chicago he managed to get ride after ride all of the way to Tulsa, Oklahoma but now the road was barren. He hadn’t seen a single car for a couple of hours.

He blinked looking back down the road, were his eyes deceiving him? Wiping the sweat from his eyes he was pretty sure that he finally saw somebody coming his way, but it could just as easily be a mirage. The heat was baking up from the pavement. But, yes! Now he heard it too!

After a few minutes an immaculate looking sky blue, ‘57 Chevy with a white soft top, pulled over to the side of the road. The driver rolled his window down and waved Terry forward.

“Hop on in pal!” The driver said, in a very friendly manner. “This is not the day to be hitchin’, it’s gotta be pushing 100° out there! Where you headed to my friend?”

Terry jumped into the front seat. His mind whirled as he took it all in. It was as if the car was brand new. There wasn’t a single scuff mark on the white and blue leather seats, the chrome on the dash board sparkled, and the odometer read only 5 miles having been driven. This was a dream come true! What better way to travel along Route 66 than in a ‘57 Chevy, and a showpiece one at that!

After taking it all in Terry finally responded to his savior, “I’m making my way to California on Route 66. So however far that you are willing to take me would be much appreciated.”

“Well ain’t that a peach!” The driver said. “I’m goin’ right your way, so buckle on up, Daddy-O. We’ve got to hit the road!”

The driver switched on his radio and after a bit of crackling, “Hound Dog” by Elvis began playing through the speakers, followed by, “Rock Around the Clock,” “Tutti Frutti,” and “Great Balls of Fire.” The music never stopped, one 50’s hit song after another just added to the nostalgia of Terry’s dream trip.

“Say, this is some radio station you’ve found. And what amazing reception you get, out here in the middle nowhere,” Terry said. “Is this satellite radio? I love it! I’ve got to find it when I get back home.”

The driver never responded, he kept his hands firmly gripped at ten and two on the steering wheel, and he just smiled as they made their way west.

Terry jerked awake. How long had he been asleep? He didn’t know. The sun was only just a bit lower in the sky, but then he saw a sign that read, “Albuquerque, 23 miles.”

Terry straightened up in his seat and rubbed his eyes, trying to focus on the dashboard. The speedometer held steady at 55 mph, and the car’s odometer now read 627 miles driven. “That must be his trip odometer,” Terry thought. “How could that be? Have we driven more than 600 miles? The sun has only slightly moved in the sky. When did he fill up with gas, and why didn’t I wake up for that?”

After about another 15 minutes or so the driver turned to Terry, “Gotta make a quick pit stop if that’s ok with you. I need to stretch my legs.” He pulled off of the road and into the parking lot of a beautifully restored old Route 66 diner, The Overnight Cafe.

Immediately upon seeing the diner, Terry had to pee, like a racehorse. How he had held it that long, he had no idea. He jumped out of the car, ran into the cafe, and made a beeline straight to the the men’s room. After relieving himself he took a moment to look around, “Holy shit, this place is amazing,” he thought to himself. “Everything is pristine in here. It looks like it’s straight out of the 50’s but it also looks so brand new.” There was a bar of Lifebuoy soap, still in its box on the sink, and actual cloth towels for drying his hands.

Terry finished cleaning up and left the men’s room to go and find his ride. He felt bad about jumping from the car and running inside so quickly. Hopefully the guy wasn’t ticked off at him about it. He walked out into the diner’s seating area and it did not disappoint. The booths were upholstered in shiny red vinyl and the tables and chairs glittered with polished chrome accents. Rock ‘n’ roll classics played from the juke box and as he turned toward the soda counter,….BAMMM!

Terry was knocked flat on his back, dripping with vanilla and chocolate milkshakes, French fries and a couple deconstructed hamburgers covered him with ketchup, mustard and pickles. The young girl who ran him over was lying next to him, her feet up in the air with the wheels on her roller skates still spinning.

“OH GOOD GOLLY!” The soda fountain attendant exclaimed as he leapt over the counter to help Terry up. “Are you ok Terry? This sure is a crummy way to start off your first day here at The Overnight Cafe! Come on over here and have a seat. Can I get you a pop, Terry? You must be thirsty as all get out after all of that driving.”

“How do you know my n……” Terry stopped talking as he scanned the people who were crowding in around him. There were girls in pink Poodle skirts and Bobby socks and guys in jeans and black leather jackets with their hair greased back. There were also guys with gigantic Afros wearing bell bottom jeans and tie died tee shirts printed with big black peace signs, straight out of Woodstock. To his left were other girls, Farrah Fawcett wannabes, with big bleach blond hair, and clothes that looked like they were fashioned out of bright parachutes. The guys that were with them had mullets and wore at least two, if not three, pastel colored Izzod polo shirts, with the collars pulled way up around their necks!

“Terry, Terry, it’s cool. We’ve been expecting you. As soon as we get you cleaned up everything will be right-o.” Once again, it was the man from behind the counter talking to him.

“Where’s my ride?” Terry asked. “And how do you know my name? Where the fuck am I?”

Everyone backed away from him and scowled at his language. “Umm, Terry, if you’re going to talk like that, I’m going to have to ask you to split. We don’t tolerate potty mouths around here.”

“Well then, I’ll be happy to leave, just tell me where my ride is.” Terry demanded.

“Your ride has left Terry. But don’t you worry, he’ll be back again soon. The Collector always comes back to see us.”

“The Collector! What kind of a name is that?” Terry asked.

“Oh, it’s not a name, Terry. It’s what he does. He collects people.”