“So this is it, huh?” I chuckled. “End of the line…”

I sat in the wrecked driver seat of my Buick, smoke rising its cracked and crushed engine. With a shaking hand, I fished a packet of Camels out of my shirt pocket. Tapping out a stick, I lit it with a flick of my lighter and took a puff, wincing as my legs shifted with the motion. The mangled plastic and metal that used to be my steering wheel and dashboard held my legs in a bloody vice grip.

I have failed. I could hear the distant sirens approaching. They would be on me like a pack of ravenous wolves soon, dragging me out of the car and devouring me. Those bastards.

I took another drag on my cigarette. Tears watered in my eyes. I would never have the time to say goodbye. To say goodbye to my girls Flo, Mary and Janine.

It wasn’t even fair.

Flo was a pretty little thing. Brown hair and hazel eyes that sparkled with humor. A little bookish but she’d always have a quip to mine. I met Flo when I bumped into her in front of a bookstore the next morning I drove into town. The head high stack of book crashed onto the ground provided a nice opportunity to apologize and talk.

And talk we did. All the way to her apartment. She had velvet bedsheets. A little odd but it felt great on the skin. I left the next day. I promised to return every Monday.

Mary was statuesque. Her blond hair shone in the sun like gold, with full lips painted blood red. She didn’t talk much but she was a great kisser. We met the evening I reached the next town over from Flo’s. She was stumbling along the sidewalk, eyes red and sobbing. Concerned, I pulled over and asked if she was alright.

She was wary at first but I was polite. Eventually, Mary spilled her beans. I listened. She had wanted to be an actress but as that meant she had to move to California, her parents forbade her. They wanted her to stay and be a nurse and they have had a huge row. Nursing? What a crummy job. Long hours and harassment by the doctors and patients. What were her parents thinking?

It was two in the morning when we parted. She thanked me for lending an ear and agreed to meet me for coffee the next day. We talked. From the café to her room. We snuck in through the backdoor. Her wallpaper was white with pink rose. I promised to return every Wednesday.

Janine was of medium height and build. A redhead with a fiery personality and passion to match. She was special. I didn’t bump into her but rather, she bumped into me. It was the second day of my visit of the next town over from Mary’s. I was on my way to a watering hole when she approached me, shoving a flyer for the local blood drive. She talked. I listened. And made a note to visit the next day.

The blood drive was a modest affair at the local hospital. I walked in and there Janine was. She remembered me from yesterday and we talked as she took my blood. She agreed to have lunch together for my generous donation. We met at a lovely Italian restaurant near the center of town. We have had white meat over wine. We talked. From the restaurant to her house. She had puffy white clouds painted on her ceiling. I promised to return every Friday.

I was back in my wrecked driver seat, puffing on my cigarette. The pain on my legs died down to a dull ache.

It really wasn’t fair, wasn’t it? They never even knew my name. To them, I was “the Wanderer”. I rode into town every week, swept them off their feet, have fun and then rode off into the sunset. The mystery of an ever departing lover. Made the love all the more sweeter.

But sadly, now they would never see the Wanderer again. Because I made a mistake.

I grew soft.

I told them my name.

“There he is! There’s that two-timing bastard, Steve!” Flo’s approaching voice hollered.

I sighed.

Why did all of them just have to know each other?