We were hitchiking through Alabama when
the storm hit. It came quick and hard; there were blue skies one
moment, and torrential rain the next. We couldn't help but laugh as
we ran through the streets to take cover at the library. We made
ourselves at home in a corner and stacked our table high with local
newspapers, short story collections, and graphic novels. We laid our
socks on the vents to dry.
The lightning was still striking when
the librarian whispered “I'm sorry, the library is closing.” We
split a hotel room-- a luxury we didn't often afford ourselves, and
took turns standing in the steamy shower to thaw. After months of
bathing in gas station bathrooms, it felt decadent to lather and
scrub. After a few showers, the water stopped turning black.
We kept our sleeping bags rolled up
that night, and audibly gasped as we crawled into the pillow-top bed.
Despite our excitement about the novelty of 100+ channels, we fell
asleep within minutes and slept through the night without budging.
We awoke to the sun shining and nudging
us out the door. We slung our packs over our shoulders, grabbed a few
bagels from the free breakfast buffet, and made our way south towards
the on-ramp, a little lighter (and a lot cleaner) than the day
before. It was only a few moments before a green station wagon pulled
over. The driver poked his head out the window and yelled “Where ya
headed?”
“South,” I said, a little unsure of
our final destination. “Anywhere south.”
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