Because how can you feel anything but watched over when your car breaks down on a pitch black road in Montana, No stars, no moon, no real knowledge of where you are at. But somewhere around you, a cell phone tower, a police man patrolling, and a tow truck driver sleeping a safe 20 minutes away, probably swearing as he speaks in his dreams? His name (the tow truck driver) is Ryan, and his real life words are tucked in between adjectives aka descriptive obscenities, which seem to apply to every situation good or bad. He bought a car, months ago, drove it for 20 miles and then hit a deer. He never got it fixed, still looking for the right parts on craigslist.
It was 4 am by the time I was into town. A motel by the name of America's Best Value Inn was the cheapest and had free breakfast, which happened to be stale bagels, milk left out on the counter, pieces of captain crunch mixed in with fruit loops, and a waffle iron with personality (the light doesn't work). The bed is more comfortable than my own at home, so it makes the fact that I'll be staying here three days seem alright. That and the fact that they're less than a mile away from a mexican restaurant in an old bus, a McDonald's where they will let you walk through the drive-thru because it's past lobby hours and you don't have a car that runs, and a gas station where you can't see the top of the attendant's head when he stands up because it reaches past the cigarette cases. Just don't ask the lady in the lobby what there is to do, she'll tell you that there is absolutely nothing since they tore down the bowling alley. "I guess that's why they all leave, there is no kid stuff."
And so, a kid at heart (I got nervous when the man who smelled like very hot tobacco looked at me so many times) tries to find out just what it's like to be in Dillon, MT on a Fri, Sat, and Sun night, feeling watched over because even though things didn't really work out, they kind of did.
It was 4 am by the time I was into town. A motel by the name of America's Best Value Inn was the cheapest and had free breakfast, which happened to be stale bagels, milk left out on the counter, pieces of captain crunch mixed in with fruit loops, and a waffle iron with personality (the light doesn't work). The bed is more comfortable than my own at home, so it makes the fact that I'll be staying here three days seem alright. That and the fact that they're less than a mile away from a mexican restaurant in an old bus, a McDonald's where they will let you walk through the drive-thru because it's past lobby hours and you don't have a car that runs, and a gas station where you can't see the top of the attendant's head when he stands up because it reaches past the cigarette cases. Just don't ask the lady in the lobby what there is to do, she'll tell you that there is absolutely nothing since they tore down the bowling alley. "I guess that's why they all leave, there is no kid stuff."
And so, a kid at heart (I got nervous when the man who smelled like very hot tobacco looked at me so many times) tries to find out just what it's like to be in Dillon, MT on a Fri, Sat, and Sun night, feeling watched over because even though things didn't really work out, they kind of did.
