We were greeted at the cabin by fireflies and Cass. She was Gabe’s friend, or girlfriend, it wasn’t clear. We stepped into the house and established our quarters in the living room, next to the front door. Past the room were a small kitchen, then a bedroom and a bathroom in the back; an unlikely shotgun shack among the bungalows of rural Illinois. We grilled some meat on the porch and ate outside. As we were eating, I took a good look at Cass, to know what was up. She looked pretty from the side, but had this unfortunate face when you’d look at her in the eye. Her chin was oddly narrow and led to disproportionally full cheeks. Her almond-shaped eyes, too wide apart and slightly slanted inwards, made her look like some kind of rodent; the mix between a rat and a squirrel, perhaps. Gabe could keep her. I’ll sleep on the couch tonight.

It started raining and the food was gone, but Cass had some hash on her. We knifed it on the stove top burners in the kitchen and collapsed on the couch, the three of us. Then Gabe insisted on picking up the guitar. That kid probably couldn’t play a single chord if held at gunpoint. The fact that he was high as shit didn’t help; he started bashing violently at the instrument while emitting strange, chirpy noises. “What the fuck are you doing man? Put that down, this is terrible.” It truly was terrible, and Cass was of the same opinion. I knew because she said “Yeah shut it, I’m trying to sleep”, or something to that effect. “Let me play, it’s Wonderwall”. It definitely wasn’t. I suggested we finish the flask, hoping it’d shut him up for good. It didn’t take long for the oil and liquor to start working together. I fell asleep on the couch, Gabe and the squirrel in the bedroom. Poor kid.

I drove him to work on Monday morning and left on the 94 to Fargo, then the 29 north all the way to Winnipeg. There was a theatre festival in the Exchange District, so I bought tickets for a couple of shows, hoping to mingle with the locals and possibly score a couch or, even better, a bed for the night; a futile enterprise. Instead, I got drunk in the beer tent listening to some live hippy noise coming from the main stage. Nobody would hold a conversation for more than a few seconds; such unfriendly people. Or maybe it was me. Regardless, I parked the car on a quiet street and got some sleep. I drove out of town a few hours later in the hope of finding a place that served cheap breakfast. What am I doing here? Winnipeg, really? Where am I going? Passed the onramp, on the highway: hitchhikers.

“Can I drive you anywhere?”

There was a girl.

“We’re going to Calgary.”

“Calgary? It’s fourteen hours away.”

“We know.” The girl was doing the talking.

“Alright put your stuff back there”. I popped the trunk open.