Tuesday 10 June 2014

Mystical Journey Pit Stop



Maybe thirty miles after my phone died and fifty miles past the last signpost, I finally saw someone, an old man sitting on the front porch of his house, fields of wheat surrounding his property, and rose bushes covering most of that.

I pulled into his drive and got out of the car.

“Excuse me, where’s this road go?”

He slowly crushed out a cigarette on the arm of his rocking chair.

“Every road goes somewhere, but it’s more important to know why you’re travelling it.”

I stared at him.

“To get to Greenville.”

He seemed disappointed for some reason.

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