Whiskey-Tango-Foxtrot. That's so my new favorite expression.
So I'm in
[>>] Fast forward to Chapter 2.
Ok seriously, people live here. In
Pause, focus. That actually wasn't Chapter 2 – that was more of the epilogue to Chapter 2. Chapter 2 starts with leaving the motel where I'm staying at 8-something in the morning and walking out into something like a cross between a sandstorm and a snow-cone factory. Not shave-ice. I'm talking snow-cones, like the kind made from little granules of ice that are whizzing thru the sub-zero air so fast it would peel the flesh from your bones if you were only thawed enough to be pliant. OMG my whingey little "I wanna be a proper SUV when I grow up" rental car... It looks like it was dipped in molten sugar syrup and is about to be sold in some giant's candystore as a frosty treat for their kids that has a squishy, wriggling center. FEE, FIE, FOE, FUM...
Sorry I couldn't hear that over the sound of my frozen hands desperately scraping at the ice with $2.50 worth of leaded Chinese plastic like that girl you never saw in Silence of the Lambs. The Bahamas. Think about The Bahamas.
Please don't let my friends I grew up with in
ever read this. I'll be disowned. Chicago
But that settles it. This place is not suitable for human life. I think maybe Midwesterners are distantly descended from Martians. It's witches' tits there too.