Vaguely Moving

By Andy Harbuck © 2007

Shit. I jump at the bright yellow flash in front of me. What the fuc.....oh...right... It's just the blinker of the small midget car passing me. I glance at my speedometer to find I've slowed to a snail's pace of 70mph.

Sonofamotherlessfuckfest.

My current hobby is that of mixing curse terms to make new ones, a hobby anyone with a maturity level near mine is familiar with. (around that of a 15 year old, in case you wonder.) I press my foot to the floor, hoping I'm not pushing my '94 Buick over the edge. The car's not that old, but very finicky, and actually the reason I'm on my way to Texas. My girlfriend and I were on a road trip up the west coast when various pieces of this car started failing. the repairs effectively drained our budget, and cut our trip short. Now we're on a 30 hour drive from Portland, OR, to Dallas, TX. and I'm doing all the driving.

So far we've been on this highway for 13 hours, and it's nearing 2 am. I'm tired. I wanted to drive as far as I could tonight, but I need sleep. I decide the next rest stop is my destination. Why the hell does my 'random' settings on iTunes always play the soft songs when I'm trying to stay awake? I hate this thing. Someone wrote a law that says this will happen, though. I forget the name.... Newman's? No.... I can't remember if that's the one about gravity or evil postmen that fuck with your mail. Maybe both...

Clusterfuckinnggoatshit.

In my musings I've missed the exit for the rest stop, and as we're nearing Salt Lake City, UT, the next one will most likely be the other side of the city. An hour and a half at least. I should find a different place to stop, but I already know I won't. I said a rest stop, and I'm sleeping at a rest stop. The car behind me apparently thinks that this highway is his own twisted version of bumper cars, as he taps my Buick's ass as he passes. I'm back down to 68 mph. Goodgodalmighty, at this rate I'll be back in Oregon before I get to Texas.

I think back to the last fuel stop, where I spent precious minutes of wakefulness in the dirty restroom, contemplating buying the studded condoms for added sensation. When I got to the car and mentioned the close call to my girlfriend, she looked relieved. I'm not sure if it's the studs that scare her, or just me wanting sex. I'll give my ego a boost and say it's the studs. If it's the sex then I can always mention exit 68, where there are blowjobs on the right side of the highway, if I stop and tap my brakes. I doubt I'll resort to that, though, it's kinda risky. The note on the bathroom stall didn't mention if it was a female or a male... I don't really swing the other way, even desperate...

Almost 3 am now, and it's mostly just myself and the truckers. I dislike driving at night, can't see the cops. Less traffic of course. Problem is, I can't see what I'm driving through. Missing the scenery. Oh well, it's probably good I suppose. Some of these states (Kansas) are nothing anyway. On the off chance that I am missing something, I can come back after I'm done exploring the world and see what these states look like in the daylight. I'm saving their beauty for a time I can actually enjoy it.

Finally. It's nearing 3:40 am and yet another blue sign telling me there's something helpful ahead. Rest stops always make me think of families, with small kids and picnic lunches. In truth, it's always truckers, and occasionally lonely men in minivans. And myself. But then, I'm only here at early hours of the morning. And this morning, loud families or old men, I don't care. I'm done.


Andy Harbuck is a vagabond from Texas.