The Road Sprawls Into Empty Nothing

You pull into the parking lot of the town’s only store and restaurant, Clem’s Bait and Tackle, General Goods and Diner. You find it slightly odd there is a bait and tackle shop here as there isn’t a lake or even so much as a pond for at least 100 miles in any direction. A sign, yellowed and peeling with age implores you to try the meatloaf. You settle for a ham on rye and a Coke served in a chipped glass. The sandwich is passable, save for the roughly quarter gallon of mustard slathered on like tar, and you tend to like any amount of ice in your pop. The waitress, Bobbi-Judy grimaces from the counter. You head over to the Jukebox and flip through the pages, the machine clunks lazily. After 6 or 7 pages you realize the only song in the Jukebox is “The Happiest Girl In The Whole USA” by Donna Fargo.

You select track B7, it calls to you for some reason. the song skips and begins to repeat the line “It’s a skippidity do da day” over and over. You leave the waitress $3 in quarters because you had just cleaned out the center console and they don’t accept credit cards here.

You head over to the general goods side of the building to wander among the pork cracklings and taxidermy beavers and to clear your head. You’d always thought road trips were an adventure as a kid, but that’s because you slept through most of the sprawl. You never noticed that the highway yawned forward for hours, the same scenery almost mocking you as you chug along, hoping for something worth doing, something worth seeing. You chuckle to yourself as you think about how much you want to shove the entire Grand Canyon up Joan from accounts receivables smug ass as you blindly grab at a display of corn nuts.

It’s not until you’ve been on the road for 2 hours that you realize you bought the Jalapeno flavor, you toss them out the window and hope the deer and raccoons that will surely eat them don’t get the shits.

Fuck jalapenos. You find yourself singing “it’s a skippidity do da day” tunelessly, aimlessly.

God damn you, Donna Fargo.


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