The curbside of an empty street in Amarillo, Texas.
Sometime shortly after midnight on a bitterly cold January morning many years ago.
Alan: Primary driver of the car, completely lacking in the nuances of Texas traffic laws, and alarmingly stupid.
Lance: Front seat passenger, map reader and navigator, purveyor of navigational pearls of wisdom such as:
- “That’s the exit we want…way back there.”
- “Last chance gas? I can find cheaper gas somewhere in the vast empty desert in between Las Vegas and Arizona.”
- “Don’t worry, we can drive for miles on empty; long before we run out of gas and are cannibalized by a family of desert dwelling inbreds.”
Matt: Backseat passenger, frustrated driver with serious blood pressure issues (issues exacerbated by questionable passenger-side navigation).
Me: Backseat passenger, provider of sarcasm, semi-blind (evidently thirty miles is “way too far to go back” to retrieve a pair of glasses from a motel room in Flagstaff…
View original post 812 more words