Of course it was raining. It's always raining when creepy things happen. Cinematography didn't make that up; it's fact. So as I'm driving home today, singing along to my "Girls Girls Girls" CD compilation - no, not a mix of Motley Crue ballads, which would be okay really, but this is a collection of songs about girls or by girls or with "girls" in the title. It's a pretty random but enjoyable mix covering ground from (can you name that tune?) "Girlfriend, I'm gonna tell your boyfriend, YEA, tell him (woo-hoo) tell what we're do-in, YEA..." to "oh yea, all right, take it easy baby, make it last... (make it last all night!)" to "I've got a secret or two about Goo, she likes to wear green underwear." So I'm driving home, in the rain, and I hear a noise coming from the trunk in the back. It's a dusty old trunk, and it's filled with WWII memoribilia. Uniforms, photographs, gas mask, you know? But it's not a noise like I just turned the corner too fast and the trunk bumped up against the inside of the car. And it's not a noise like something is rattling around and bumping into the trunk. It's the kind of noise like from someone banging on the inside of the trunk. Like the noise you would make if you were inside the trunk and knocking to get out.
I parked my car at the Dairy Queen and just walked away.
1 comment:
It was fine in there for a couple hours but eventually I started to run out of air. Finally someone heard my banging and let me out. After a couple beers at Myles I felt better but I think that's the last time I'll try and hitch rides in musty old trunks.
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