I arrive at a seaside town. It is an American town but it could be on any coast. The town has a very east coast feel to me. Maybe that is just because of the location of the sun in relation to the coast. In no particular order I do the following.
Try to avoid getting my car impounded.
Take a brochure from a sandwich pamphleteer. The brochure is for a local market selling foreign foods and goods. I pass the market, and a disquieting feeling overcomes me.
I debate the wholeness of the food and the durability of the goods inside the market. Also, I get the sense that I am being surveiled by someone or something. A dread of the covert. A distrustful notion.
Every person whom I attempt to ask the name of the town, avoids the question. They are pleasant, cordial, some seem familiar even though I can’t recall there faces. Actually in don’t know if I can even see there faces. As if a magnet were attached to my chin and my chest making it very uncomfortable for me to look anyone in the face.
I try to coordinate myself by taking note of the various hotel chains in this beachside community. But it doesn’t matter I quickly get totally turned about and now can’t find where I parked the car.
It is a road trip which makes it even more important to find the car.
I do go into a grocery/drugstore. All the packaged food has been opened and then returned to the shelves. I really want something though. I am extremely thirsty and hungry. Someone is looking for me inside this store. Someone I don’t want to find.
As I wander the streets I see a beautiful girl. She reminds me of Maria Sharapova. We don’t say much before she has to get in her car and drive away. She looks at me in her rear view mirror and makes the call me sign with her thumb and pinkie fingers. She speeds off but a piece of paper with her number flies out of the driver side window.
Here there is some sort of obstacle that gets in the way of me getting the paper. I relent, remembering that I have to find my car before the impound occurs. Then I scold myself, I am possibly aware that this is not real, but I tell myself that if a beautiful woman wants to connect with you, you should everything in your power to do so.
I go back to where the piece of paper was. Somehow I now have her on my cell phone. I call her. She remembers me. She didn’t think I was going to call. There is an awkward silence. I tell her who she reminds me of and that I think she is very beautiful. She doesn’t know how to respond. She knows that I am only visiting her town and must leave as soon as I find my car. Despite this, she hopes I will call again.