Well, here were are Eagles fans. And where is here, anyways? We’re in the middle of nowhere on a desolate road, equally halfway between respectability and ineptitude. Our ride looked good on the outside when we started, but it’s sputtering and leaking weird green juices all over the steaming asphalt.
Our HOW-E 2.0 GPS is telling us to keep going, ignore the warnings signs, ignore the rattling noise we’ve been hearing for weeks that is just getting louder. There’s a gas station just a few miles ahead, salvation, previous fuel to send us back into the fray. HOW-E 2.0 tells us we can make it there with what we have under the hood. But does anyone truly believe it? Doesn’t he…err…the GPS have to say that? Isn’t that it’s job?
Tumbleweeds litter the side of the highway. The radiator is hissing. And there are scorpions everywhere. You can’t see them, but you know there are oh so many scorpions waiting for the big breakdown.
When the car starts up again next week, where are we going? All we can do is kick the tires and hope we don’t roll back to where we came from.