Escort Duty

It's 7AM. I am in position. The truck driver is there by the loading bay, coffee in hand, staring aimlessly at a pile of supplies. Flour, beans, and canned food. Our mission? Drop this off at another military camp, far south. A few days on the road.

We kick things off with a chat. The chubby chap has done this trip a hundred times before, always with a different escort. The Sergeant was spot on about him: "An empty co-driver's seat would be just as good, for all he cares. This is your ticket to five days of sleep; take it or leave it". The driver disappears for a minute, and then returns with a rusty little forklift. We load the supplies on the truck, then throw our duffel bags in, and hop on. He stashes some documents behind the wheel, takes another sip of his muddy frappé, and starts the engine.

The truck hums along past the warehouse, turns by the outpost, and comes to a standstill before the gate. A brief pause to get the all-clear. Seconds later, the barrier is raised, and we are on the road. The camp's wall enters the rearview mirror, and slowly turns into a thin brown line. I pull out my headphones, turn up the volume, and lean back, as the road slides under the wheels. I am in no mood for sleep. The world outside is changing every minute, and I don't want to miss a thing.

Manos Psychogyiopoulos

Manos Psychogyiopoulos

Athens, Greece