People used to say that road trips were fun. Hell, I used to believe them. I still do, in a way. The one thing that makes road trips fun, though, is that you take them with your friends. That’s where the fun comes from – hanging out with your friends while driving across America, or something like that. I always thought it would be a great idea to try to take a road trip, almost in a “spirit journey” kind of way. Travel America by car, see the sights, learn a little something about myself, blah blah blah. Suffice it to say, it didn’t work. It didn’t work at all.
My story starts and ends in my car, which is probably one of the worst things I can think of. Dying in my car? Not even in a car crash, but from… fuck, I don’t even know. I just don’t know.
I was driving home to New York from my Jersey job (that’s a story for a different date) when I saw someone wandering around aimlessly on the side of the road. She was average looking, a little tall, and seemed more confused about where she was than deliberately looking for a ride somewhere. Despite all warnings I’ve heard on TV and from my parents, I decided to pull over and ask if she needed help with something.
“Hey,” I said, slowing to a stop next to her, “you ok? You seem lost.”
She was meek when she spoke. “Oh, I… yeah, I’m a little lost. I was supposed to meet my friend around here for a hike and he just never showed up…”
I looked around. There were absolutely no mountains or nature trails around that she could have been talking about. I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt about this.
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