"Don't do what those other people did,"

said Alex. "Don't cut my head of with a knife." The man beside Alex looked at him, saying nothing.

Alex was headed out to New Mexico but more and more he felt like he would not make it. The Greyhound was headed fast and steady across the interstate. They were like lego people all placed carefully inside, butts glued to seats with perfect plastic pegs.

The man was reading US Weekly magazine. On the cover there was a picture of some people from the TV show Lost. "Which one is actually a robot?" it said. "Find out inside." Alex handed the man his cola.
"Would you make sure nobody puts any drugs in my drink while I am pooping?" The man took it. On his way down the aisle Alex checked over his shoulder. At that moment, at least, the man was not trying to steal a sip of the cola.

In the bathroom Alex decided it would be safer not to touch anything. He pooped with his butt hovering six inches above the toilet. In this position he imagined all the terrible things which could be happening to his cola as he was here, in the bathroom. When he got back to his seat the man handed him his cola.
"It would be safer not to drink it," he thought to himself, but he was very thirsty. Alex took a small sip. He soon felt tired. The man waited until Alex had drifted into sleep before making one clean, swift stroke across his sleeping neck. The blood came out red as a can of cola.

"Now is not the time for your tears," said the man.