Unamused Pickle

I glanced at the lone pickle dancing in the green juice inside its jar as I walked.

“Well pickle, it’s just you and me.” My stomach rumbled. “Pretty soon it will be just me.” The pickle was not amused.

My car had run out of gas 3 days ago. All the food I had packed was supposed to last me a week, but a bear had cleaned out most of that. After the bear left I had wandered alongside the road feeling angry and raging at God, just me and my jar of pickles that the bear somehow could not open.

I spied the billboard. It was ancient, made of wooden slats, half missing, and the paint chipping. A huge smiling face wore 3-D glasses, but the gender of the caricature was indistinguishable. Home of the World’s ..est.. Next Right.

I found the crossing, then pondered what the attraction could have possibly been. Biggest movie theater? Best 3-D putt-putt? My thoughts became more outrageous as my hunger grew.

Derronville was long deserted. Laughing aloud, tears coursed down my face as I sat and chewed my last pickle.

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