Stopped somewhere in Indiana. Don’t know where in Indiana, though I feel sincerely as if I’ve been here before. That’s no indication of anything, though. All of fucking Indiana looks the same. I open the car door without moving the seat forward and kick my leg outside. It’s a little chilly, a blessing for the winter months to be just chilly in the Midwest in January. Look around the parking lot and the gas station for my driver, who appears to be inside getting directions and cigarettes. We had begun this trip in the dark, and I thought that perhaps it was a bad sign when he turned to me on the interstate and asked “so do you know how to get there?” I smiled nervously, pointed a finger in the direction we generally hoped for, and he agreed and accelerated onto another highway. Since then we have been casually ignoring the fact that we didn’t really know where we were going. I trusted his ability to read a map. I didn’t really trust mine.

He sauntered out after a few minutes, ripping off the plastic on a pack of Winstons and tossing it away as he went.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

“Yeah, yeah everything’s fine.”

I pull my leg back into the car and light a cigarette myself. Pull my seat up and we look at eachother sideways before he starts the car up. Must still be waiting for me to say “turn back.” Maybe this entire trip is a dare to my willpower. I reach down to find my iPod, select a song, show it to him. He takes another drag and nods and turns the key in the ignition. We roll out of the parking lot drumming our fingers to different points in the beat. I’ll make sure we stop for beer before we leave this miserable state’s lines.

“Once we actually do get there,” he says. “If we get there. Do you know where we’re going?”

“What do you mean?”

“Can you find him when we get there?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I can find him. I can always find him.”

He gives me another sideways look and I look away.

He says, “turn the fucking speakers up.”


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