Delay

 "Come on, come on," Mark muttered under his breath, his eyes glued to the digital clock above the convenience store counter. The glowing red numbers ticked away the seconds with a cruel, unrelenting pace. 3:59 AM. He had exactly one minute to spare. One minute until the bus that could potentially change his life was scheduled to arrive.

"Hurry it up, will ya?" he snapped at the cashier, a young college student with bleary eyes and a mess of unruly hair. She looked up from her textbook, startled, and hastily scanned his items.

"I'm sorry, sir," she said, her voice thick with sleep. "It's just that no one's ever here at this time."

"Well, I am," Mark said, his voice sharp as the edge of the knife he kept hidden in his boot. "Now, can I pay?"

The cashier nodded, her cheeks flushing a shade of pink that matched the stale donuts in the display case. She quickly rang up his purchase: a pack of gum and a bottle of water. Mark threw a few crumpled bills on the counter and snatched the items before the change had even finished clinking into the open drawer.

The door chimed as he rushed outside, the cool pre-dawn air slapping him in the face. The sidewalks were empty, the streetlamps casting a sickly yellow light over the cracked pavement. In the distance, he could see the faint outline of the bus stop sign. It was still a good two blocks away.

His heart hammered in his chest as he broke into a jog, his heavy backpack bouncing against his back. He had been planning this escape for months, and now, the moment was almost here. If he missed this bus, there would be no other option. The bus was his ticket out of this dead-end town, out of his miserable life.

The sound of squealing tires made him look up. A car careened around the corner, headlights blazing through the darkness. The headlights grew closer, and he could see the silhouette of a figure leaning out the window. The car screeched to a halt beside him, and the figure called out.

"Mark, right? You're Mark?"

He stopped, his hand on the strap of his backpack, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. "How do you know my name?"

The figure stepped out of the car, and the light from the streetlamp fell upon him. It was Jimmy, a high school acquaintance, now looking more like a desperate fugitive than a small-town nobody.

"I've got a situation," Jimmy said, his voice tight with urgency. "A big one. I need your help."