They watched Julia on the motel TV as she awkwardly removed a hunk of meat from a big pot with tongs, being all Juliasweet and advising and fussing and you could jealously taste the rich deliciousness of the whole thing, even in black and white..

“Damn”, he said, “That looks good.  I’m hungry”

When the show ended and she bid them “bon appétit”, they put on their jackets and walked to the retro diner next door where a young waitress gave them nickels to put in the little jukebox on the formica table.  

Ordering burgers and fries, coffee for her, coke for him, they played their nickels and listened to the music.  They had learned one another’s names and told one another some of their stories as she drove.  Now was the end of day one.  It had been a good day.  

Within the warm intimacy of the front seat of her old car, they talked for hours when they weren’t watching the country fly by, awkwardly at first but soon spilling forth liquidly, permitting themselves the luxury of an illusion: that they were actually understood and could see each other, through their stories,  sharing them until the light faded.  By night they knew they would travel together west, each carrying their lifetime of savings and losses, 19 years for him, 63 years of hers, enough to sustain them for a journey.  

They were not lovers and they would never be.  The bond they shared was destiny: two ships had passed in the night, twin Titanics.  And what they were were strangers who had reached over the edge of each to grab on to the other's hand, to save one another's lives. 

They finished their food and sipped their drinks as each enjoyed the novelty of the moment, the surprising pleasantness.  Neither had even considered this scenario, a friendship of such disparate years taking root in this short and unlikely time and place.  And that they might be renewed and protected with such a friend close by watching.    

ADDENDUM:

this isn't a finish. still, I couldn't let it sit and simmer without some sort of punctuation mark.   a half finished chapter (I consider these "chapters" portions of a chapter) gives me the willies.   I had a pressing need to "do something", the death of anything!  can't force it but I couldn't let it be.  I did know that these two would be friends and a road trip might be their salvation.  or perhaps someone will be burying a body under a full moon in Montana.  

so this will continue when it continues.  

in the meantime, you say goodbye and I say hello!   

These are the first two chapters of this ongoing Penny Dreadful: 

Chapter One: 50 Ways to Leave

Chapter Two: Make a New Plan, Stan