![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Mar. 16th, 2023 at 6:41 PM
[The night carries the two of them south. While Johnnie's original plan based on his map had been to travel down the coastline, he's still cautious about what lurks there, and opts for a quieter, inland route that bypasses most of the major cities in South Carolina. Whatever this state might hold, they'll miss it, aside for a brief pit stop near Lake Marion to refuel the tank, fill up on snacks, and get Chrissy a little more knife fighting practice (though with sticks found at the lakeside, no sharp edges here) before either of them are too low on energy for that.
There are long stretches where towns mostly vanish, where they're lucky to have pavement at all judging by the lack of civilization around them. The road material shifts at one point into something strange and glassy, and Johnnie has a hard time finding traction for the bike - and the explanation comes in the form of some strange electric vehicle with neon lights that zips rapidly past them, floating over the road rather than touching it. It's cool, but it also makes the hair rise on the back of his neck.
The orange-pink disc of the sun is just barely visible emerging on the horizon as they ride into Tifton. That last leg of the road had been so dark and quiet Johnnie had fallen into something of a trance, hypnotized by the black road and its yellow stripes, but a road sign for the Tifton Mine ("an unbelievable journey through time you don't dare miss!") and the lights of a fire station and golf club at the edge of town snap him out of his thoughts.
The mine is to the north, and part of him wants to just take that road and go straight there. But Chrissy needs a real bed to sleep in while she recovers from her injuries, still - dozing on the road probably doesn't count enough. And, okay, maybe he could use a couple hours' rest, too.
They pass a fucking taquerÃa and that blows his mind, and then as they get farther and farther into the city he continues to sit straight up and look a little bit startled by all the lights and signs and everything for what was marked as some tiny little dot on a map that he was expecting to have no more than maybe five hundred people. The music, too, keeping him awake this last part of the ride, is even more unfamiliar than it was in the 90s, and as he merges with traffic and looks around at dancing lights and animated billboards, he spots a bank with a time, date, and temperature reading for some absurd reason.
April 6, 2004.]
Hey, you seein' all this, Chrissy?
[Who knows if she's even awake right now, but maybe the slowing of his bike and the surprising amount of traffic at this hour have done the trick. Now they just need to find a motel, and the main drag up ahead looks like a good bet.]
There are long stretches where towns mostly vanish, where they're lucky to have pavement at all judging by the lack of civilization around them. The road material shifts at one point into something strange and glassy, and Johnnie has a hard time finding traction for the bike - and the explanation comes in the form of some strange electric vehicle with neon lights that zips rapidly past them, floating over the road rather than touching it. It's cool, but it also makes the hair rise on the back of his neck.
The orange-pink disc of the sun is just barely visible emerging on the horizon as they ride into Tifton. That last leg of the road had been so dark and quiet Johnnie had fallen into something of a trance, hypnotized by the black road and its yellow stripes, but a road sign for the Tifton Mine ("an unbelievable journey through time you don't dare miss!") and the lights of a fire station and golf club at the edge of town snap him out of his thoughts.
The mine is to the north, and part of him wants to just take that road and go straight there. But Chrissy needs a real bed to sleep in while she recovers from her injuries, still - dozing on the road probably doesn't count enough. And, okay, maybe he could use a couple hours' rest, too.
They pass a fucking taquerÃa and that blows his mind, and then as they get farther and farther into the city he continues to sit straight up and look a little bit startled by all the lights and signs and everything for what was marked as some tiny little dot on a map that he was expecting to have no more than maybe five hundred people. The music, too, keeping him awake this last part of the ride, is even more unfamiliar than it was in the 90s, and as he merges with traffic and looks around at dancing lights and animated billboards, he spots a bank with a time, date, and temperature reading for some absurd reason.
April 6, 2004.]
Hey, you seein' all this, Chrissy?
[Who knows if she's even awake right now, but maybe the slowing of his bike and the surprising amount of traffic at this hour have done the trick. Now they just need to find a motel, and the main drag up ahead looks like a good bet.]
Comments