The Dreaded Vacation Post

Sooo.

triadruid left at the inhospitable hour of noon on New Year's Day (having been at agrnmn's poker, singing, and silly hats party the night before), on the road to Florida. We drove across Missouri to St. Louis, a trip that is interminable on the way out to anywhere, but somehow seems quick and refreshing on the way back. Southbound on I-55, we discovered Callahan's Place, and then headed into deepest, darkest Arkansas. In Arkansas, we were greeted by an amazing variety of small towns just off of 55, and made up stories about them to alleviate the sheer, butt-numbing boredom of the trip. We imagined a circus: Victoria Luxora, the high-wire artist, twirling a flaming baton while crossing the highway at the towering height of 100 feet; Keiser Wilson, the ringmaster who speaks only gibberish, communicating more clearly with gesture and the occasional shot from an incendiary flare pistol; Marie Lepanto, the delicate, harlequin-painted dog trainer, parading about with her fuzzy charges; and Joiner Tyronza, the strong man with a heart of iron. Thankfully, we soon passed into Tennessee, and then Mississippi, where we stopped for the night.
( More travel ahead! )

The Dreaded Vacation Post

Sooo.

triadruid left at the inhospitable hour of noon on New Year's Day (having been at agrnmn's poker, singing, and silly hats party the night before), on the road to Florida. We drove across Missouri to St. Louis, a trip that is interminable on the way out to anywhere, but somehow seems quick and refreshing on the way back. Southbound on I-55, we discovered Callahan's Place, and then headed into deepest, darkest Arkansas. In Arkansas, we were greeted by an amazing variety of small towns just off of 55, and made up stories about them to alleviate the sheer, butt-numbing boredom of the trip. We imagined a circus: Victoria Luxora, the high-wire artist, twirling a flaming baton while crossing the highway at the towering height of 100 feet; Keiser Wilson, the ringmaster who speaks only gibberish, communicating more clearly with gesture and the occasional shot from an incendiary flare pistol; Marie Lepanto, the delicate, harlequin-painted dog trainer, parading about with her fuzzy charges; and Joiner Tyronza, the strong man with a heart of iron. Thankfully, we soon passed into Tennessee, and then Mississippi, where we stopped for the night.
( More travel ahead! )