“I’m just happy to pick up two hitchhikers who don’t look like they’re gonna cut my head off.”
We weren’t hitchhiking.
Found an alternate route after we passed through the mountains. Started a little ahead where we left off yesterday – looks like rain. Scott dropped us off at a country road off of the highway that looks like it goes straight to Shelbyville. It really is one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen. It’s rocky, hilly, brambly… The temperature is perfect, the clouds are hiding the sun. We begin.
After about 20 minutes a woman in a white Thunderbird drives by then puts her brakes on and backs up.
“Where ya’ll goin’?”
“Shelbyville.”
“What?!”
“We’re walking to Shelbyville.”
“Well, that’s where I’m goin’ – I’ll give ya a lift!”
“No thanks, we just started.”
“Well I wouldn’t do it.”
She drove off laughing and shaking her head.
An hour later she drove by again, coming from the opposite direction and honked.
:::::
There are many kinds of waves:
1. One finger up, hand still on steering wheel
2. Two fingers up, hand on steering wheel
3. Four fingers up, hand on steering wheel
4. full hand up, palm resting on steering wheel
5. full hand up and off the wheel
6. nodding
:::::
Stone walls for miles. Low forests. Horses. Cows. One rabbit. Goats making funny sounds and none of them related. Horses running toward us. Cows in stone silence, staring. All the animals are furrier than I knew, preparing for winter. Farmers and oldold houses and newnew houses. Smells like air. Briars and briars. Low lakes (it’s a drought).
We walked all the way from Belleville to just outside Shelbyville (maybe 10 miles away?) and I snuck into the woods over a barbed wire fence and peed. Upon exiting, Jonathan was making a conversation with someone in a car. The car drove away, but as I caught up to him another car stopped. A guy in a cap hollered, “ya’ll need a lift?” We took it.
We were in a red Blazer with three men in camoflauge. Two of them were drunk and on their way to work at the Tyson chicken plant. The driver was in full camoflauge: hat, shirt, overalls. The other guy in the passenger seat was from Northern California but had adapted his accent quite well, said fuck a lot.
“Bought my girlfriend a gun for Christmas.”
Found an alternate route after we passed through the mountains. Started a little ahead where we left off yesterday – looks like rain. Scott dropped us off at a country road off of the highway that looks like it goes straight to Shelbyville. It really is one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen. It’s rocky, hilly, brambly… The temperature is perfect, the clouds are hiding the sun. We begin.
After about 20 minutes a woman in a white Thunderbird drives by then puts her brakes on and backs up.
“Where ya’ll goin’?”
“Shelbyville.”
“What?!”
“We’re walking to Shelbyville.”
“Well, that’s where I’m goin’ – I’ll give ya a lift!”
“No thanks, we just started.”
“Well I wouldn’t do it.”
She drove off laughing and shaking her head.
An hour later she drove by again, coming from the opposite direction and honked.
:::::
There are many kinds of waves:
1. One finger up, hand still on steering wheel
2. Two fingers up, hand on steering wheel
3. Four fingers up, hand on steering wheel
4. full hand up, palm resting on steering wheel
5. full hand up and off the wheel
6. nodding
:::::
Stone walls for miles. Low forests. Horses. Cows. One rabbit. Goats making funny sounds and none of them related. Horses running toward us. Cows in stone silence, staring. All the animals are furrier than I knew, preparing for winter. Farmers and oldold houses and newnew houses. Smells like air. Briars and briars. Low lakes (it’s a drought).
We walked all the way from Belleville to just outside Shelbyville (maybe 10 miles away?) and I snuck into the woods over a barbed wire fence and peed. Upon exiting, Jonathan was making a conversation with someone in a car. The car drove away, but as I caught up to him another car stopped. A guy in a cap hollered, “ya’ll need a lift?” We took it.
We were in a red Blazer with three men in camoflauge. Two of them were drunk and on their way to work at the Tyson chicken plant. The driver was in full camoflauge: hat, shirt, overalls. The other guy in the passenger seat was from Northern California but had adapted his accent quite well, said fuck a lot.
“Bought my girlfriend a gun for Christmas.”
posted by Hope Hilton at 2:45 PM
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