Monday, March 24, 2008

It's one-thirty in the morning. . .

. . given my velocity, I could expect to be in Chicago no earlier than four A.M. I'd then have to be at work five hours after.

When the pep of Sufjan Stevens, Marlboro Reds, and Cherry Coke Zero have lost their edge, there's one last refuge for the weary driver.

While perusing through the aisles of the Adult Bookstore, I realized that this would be the worst place to die in a late-night robbery gone awry. To be found, bled to death upon matted shag next to the clearance DVD's being sold caveat emptor(no covers) would resonate that not only was A.v.E a pervert, he was cheap. I searched around, hoping to scout a box I could hide under if worse came to worse. Finding nothing, I hoped that my assailants would follow me up the road and do me the small favor of putting two to the base of my skull next to a rest stop or some gas pumps. Anywhere but here.

Leaving the store, I resumed my position amongst the tired conveys of truckers on mini-thins and of poor judgment. Snow began to fall, and the night sky seemed so bright. I didn't feel like I was returning from my home.

And I didn't feel like I was arriving to it, either.

By the way, save yourself the thirty bucks and rent Community College Sluts. Aside from showing one of the few things you can do with an Associates Degree, it offers no redeeming value.

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