Makin' it up as I go.

So there we were, sitting in this little shithole diner in the middle of goddamn nowhere. The bastard's sitting across from me, sucking lazily on a Marlboro red. I could never really stand Cowboy Killers.
Always fucked up my throat.
Anyways. I'm choking down some of the vile slop that this fucking place has the balls to call coffee, and I'm just staring at the motherfucker sitting across the table from me. Daring him to say something. I'm sure by this time I look like a goddamned lunatic, but I don't give a shit. It's 3am, all the people in here look like fuckin weirdos. Even the motherfucker across from me.
He's got this subtle aura of completely batshit insane about him, it tends to put a man on edge. It's not like he looks like anything particularly special. By all accounts, a standard guy. Dirty blonde hair, not too long but pretty messy despite that, wire, half-frame glasses that put a slight emphasis on his wild eyes. He's dressed pretty scruffily, just an old Genesis t-shirt and ragged jeans. I don't even think he's wearing shoes, but damned if I'm breaking my crazy stare to check. He just looks back at me, nonchalantly.
So I guess you'll be wanting an explanation, he says.
Fucking yes I want a goddamn explanation I calmly reply. He takes one last drag from his cigarette before grinding it into the ashtray and lighting another. He takes a long drag from this one. My hand twitches involuntarily towards the fork laying on the table.
Look, he says, calm as fucking anything, I'm sorry about your car. But honestly, I had to run it into that truck. I had no other choice.
No other fucking choice! I interject, coolly. Like fucking hell you had no other choice!
Seriously man. He smiles. I had to. He takes another drag.
I'm on a mission from God man.
My hand inches ever closer to the clean silverware lying innocently on the table.