Pickles licked the blood off of her knuckles and stepped over the body of the railroad bull she had just bludgeoned to death, and walked briskly towards the fence.  No use calling more attention to herself leaving the rail yard via the front gate.  After a few false starts she hoisted herself over the chainlink without tearing a hole in her trousers and ducked into the shadows, trying to avoid the small encampment of hobos who sat around a barrel full of bits of broken wood and trash, the chill night air raising sparks to the air like unheard prayers. 

Once she had cleared the hobos she sank deeper into the dark in search of a car.  A low whistle escaped her lips when she came upon a pine needle green Packard.  "Holy shit."  In less than a minute she'd gotten the car started and was on her way down the road.  She got gas at a late nite station and felt generous, actually paying for the fuel, then got on her away, hoping to be several towns away before the sun came up.  

The road wore on like a frayed ribbon and she rubbed her tired eyes, finally pulling over at a small, brightly lit diner.  It was rare to come across restaurants like this anywhere, but especially in rural America.  She parked the car and sauntered in, hat pulled low over her eyes. 

"I'll have a black coffee and a piece of pie."

"Apple or cherry mister?"  She smiled and replied

"Cherry." before lighting a cigarette and blowing out a smooth stream of blue smoke.  The pie was good but a thick miasma of sugar, burnt coffee and smoke rose and stung Pickle's nose, letting her know it was time to go.  "I'll take the check."  She paid the bill and added a nice tip. "I'll take everything in the register too."  The waitress was terrified and accommodated with no trouble.  Pickles gave a low nod and got to the car with a speed that surprised her. "Keep moving, keep moving."  Energised from pie, coffee, and crime she pressed the gas pedal down until the wind whipped her hat off and blew it into backseat.  She screamed, a feral noise escaping the petite girl, and then laughed as the sun began to warm the horizon, Chicago in the distance.  

Before she'd left New York she'd seen the family doctor, asking for help of any kind, anything that would curb the crazy feelings she'd been having.  In the end he'd recommended she go for a long stay in a sanitarium upstate.  Instead he'd ended up in a puddle of his own blood and she'd escaped in his  car, wearing clothes she'd stolen from the lounge.  Now as she thought about it she nodded. 

"You're right doctor. Perhaps I am exhibiting signs of mania."