Tremors

It was quiet in the still of the night. The moonlight filtered through the branches of the forest in soft patches. It was weird. You could see, but everything was shadowy, pale. Like a reflection of itself. Was anything real? This place, with its lack of sound, did it exist or was it another figment of his imagination?
The whiskers on his face were getting longer. He should probably consider cutting them or growing a beard. They needed trimming. He turned on the water in the sink. Clean shaven or bearded? He remembered hearing that the lumber Jack look was in. Women wanted a rugged man. The hot water steamed up the mirror. And wasn't it November anyway? Weren't you supposed to let it grow in November? What if you were a woman? He wondered if they could get away without shaving. Time to stop that line of thought, he was getting aroused.
He stared at the steering wheel. He was losing precious time sitting here. But he had to think for a minute. Was this what he really wanted to do? Once he pulled away, there was no turning back. Was it really that bad? She said she was sorry. But that wasn't something you did by accident. You have to plan that. It's not like you just slipped and boom. His hands tightened on the steering wheel. He looked down at the seat. There was his pistol, the bag with the rags, rope, everything he needed. It was just a matter of will everyone listen to reason.