Quote:
Originally Posted by Dr. Drib
Back when I first got married (to my first wife), we were driving to Arkansas to visit my parents. My parents came to my wedding, in Cincinnati, but this was the first time for her to visit Arkansas. They live up in the Ozark Mountains, where you pass through lonely hills on small highways that twist and turn arthritically into the night. There was no moon and the darkness was like a blanket laid across the land. The windows were up and the night was still and quiet. I casually remarked to my new wife that this would be a perfect place for a murder.
A few years later we both laughed at this, but she told me at the time that she wondered who she had married.
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That was mean
I'm somewhat leery about traveling on lonely stretches of road in rural areas. I have to do that whenever I visit the Carbon River entrance of Mt Rainier. There's one stretch of the road that passes by a couple of beat up mobile homes with junk trucks in the front yards. I get this creepy feeling that I'm in a scene from "Deliverance" and I just want to get the hell out of there.
