In the back woods on a lonely highway, I saw the chicken crossing the road.
I stopped for a moment to think and observe. Here was this monster rooster strutting across the highway like it was his own private drive. I thought briefly of asking him why, but then came to my senses and drove on.
And on. The highway extended across the flats as far as the eye could see, in a nearly perfect line. It undulated just enough to be unsettling if you drove too fast, but not enough to do away with the sense that it extended to infinity, and possibly beyond.
The chicken crossed the road.
Same chicken as an hour ago. That seemed more than a little strange, as I was really sure I had made not turns, and had been zipping right along. My headliner had the dents from my head to prove it too. And yet, I’m sure that was the same bird except it cannot be.
Still, I won’t get any answers from the chicken, and now I’m beginning to worry I’m late, and worse, lost. I’ve seen the movies. I know what happens to city folk who get overconfident on lonely isolated country roads. Like this one. In fact, I’m not sure I’ve seen a single other living soul aside from that chicken—
The chicken that just crossed the road again.
This time I thought I heard a faint cackle in the distance, something like an old hag amused at her fun and games.
But aside from that nut that tried to feed me that strange herbal tea at breakfast, I haven’t offended any old hags…
Damn. There goes that chicken again.
Now I’m sure even the trees are mocking me.