The Volkswagen bus roared as my friends boarded the tiny thing. There were eight of us sharing seat belts, lauging about old times, and playing ridiculous road trip games. I was given the unfortunate role of driving as giggling, travel beer pong ensued in the back.
Our destination was unknown—well to my friends anyway. I knew where I wanted to go and I had the whole world at my fingertips. Well, until we hit an ocean.
Being cramped up in a frightening small town where “everbody knows your name” killed a person like me, who couldn’t stay out of trouble if his life depended on it.
My dad had went to the sherriff’s so often that he opened an account for me just for bail money in the local bank.
This trip was getting me out of here. And who knows? I might not come back.
A few hundred miles later, we arrived. My friends hadn’t been paying attention at all to the signs, telling where we were.
I smiled hugely at the bright sun, we parked in Time Square.
The laughing and drinking stopped, and there was quiet.