Travel Diary #42

When stopped at a tiny gas station and using the bathroom, it is important to keep one’s eyes open. Of course, I am referring to Signs, both from the management as well as the denizens of the particular area in which gas or restrooms are required.

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As you can see, a certain someone named Katelyn is looking for suitors in all possible venues and is open-minded enough to examine any gentleman caller that might be interested in the brisk enterprise of courtship (however brief it may be). Won’t you ever so playfully tousle Fate’s hair and give this desperate maiden the evening out she so deserves?

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As we can plainly see here, the management of this particular Marathon Station, has had some trouble with a few of the more off-color patrons taking advantage of a private washroom and filling it with: who knows, what kinds of inhalants. Also, it should be mentioned that after the management (in their understandable crossness of this particular violation) put up said sign; some rapscallion, of malicious intent, snipped out the offending area to better suit their own heinous ethos. Upon discovering the defacement of the management’s plea; an unknown patriot, armed only with a writing utensil, (as most of the true visionaries are) struck fear into the heart of evil, and called forth a new kind of vengeance into action; with those few strokes, took back the power once stolen by some reprehensible rouge; and like a true hero, silently righted the true balance of power and asked for nought in return.

Or at least that’s how I imagined it happening.

Until nest time folks,


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