He sulked against a signpost marking the beginning of Route 66, the oldest and most famous American road. His gold teeth and yellow eyes stood out clearly. Dust marred his black suit, but his white shirt and goat-headed cane gleamed.
“It’s no fun anymore,” he sighed. “In my heyday on this route, I ensured tires went flat beside towns full of cannibals. Engines overheated beside the homes of axe murderers. It was great until…” He sniffled.
“That’s too bad,” I said, feigning sympathy. I climbed into my aircar, one like everyone else drove these days. I flew away ignoring the roads, leaving the Road Demon behind.
Historic Route 66: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/U.S._Route_66
Each week, the Friday Fictioneers climb into ’57 Thunderbird and go for a drive down the Route 66 of our imagination. It takes us to the places of dreams and nightmares, illusions and clarity. Won’t you come with us on our journey through the gaps of reality? Look here for more stories based upon the photo above: http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2015/01/07/2-january-2015/