Shut Up, Stranger

I was driving home down that long freeway that split and writhed into every which direction. My dad and grandpa always believed you could make it to Canada if you took it far enough. Really, their guess surprised me considering they took it all over the state and its length was still much too far for them to conquer. I, however, was not interested in breaking any state or country lines. Of course, I shared the front seat with one of those friends who never stop asking questions the whole way there.
I had shaved off about three hours and there was still over 100 miles to go. My friend was still persistent, making beats on the dash and interrogating me. I was surprised again to find the more he talked, the more ashamed of myself I became. I always promised I wouldn’t meet other guys while I was gone, even if this one was a stowaway with no interest in me.
He cut into my thoughts again. “Are you reelin’ in the years?”
“Fuck off, Steely Dan!” I shouted to the emotionless radio. The rest of the drive was silent.

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