hey, thanks for the Corona.

They met at the Bottleneck to catch a show -- it was Wednesday, which meant $1 beers.

But they couldn't stop there. Slippery nipples, Jäger bombs, bartender's concoctions all joined the PBR cans. Drink followed drink as they took in the show.

As the night wore to morning, the bar emptied out; they followed suit.

Outside, they spotted a rather large touring RV by the curb. As they watched, the man in front of them grabbed the door handle, jumped in and started to close the door.

"Oh, hey there, hi...," they mumbled from the sidewalk at the closing door, joking with one another.

Unexpectedly, the man reopened the door and returned their greeting. Within seconds, they found themselves climbing the stairs on the RV.

"Well, here's our living room, and back there is where we sleep and behind that is the equestrian park," he tells them. "We have a pool downstairs and a triple rainbow on the second floor with the unicorn."

Just as quickly, they found themselves back on the sidewalk.

However, with a cold bottle of Corona in hand.

the questionable east side

liberal arts

In a crowded bar he calmly gazes across the room. Music blares behind him. He looks down to the table. Hand twitching slightly, his eyes move back, intrigued.

Conversations form around him, but he continues his cycle.

She takes notice and watches his eyes drift, his hand moving mechanically. She hadn't seen him in years, yet not much has changed.

Minutes pass. His hand stops, he gets up and walks across the room. Approaching a man with a dark hat, sunglasses, mustache and beard, he introduces himself and hands over a piece of paper.

The man laughs, they shake hands. New friends, they rejoin the table.

Out of gratitude, the man pulls out a stiff cigarette and lighter. The man tips the cigarette with something and passes it to him. He smokes, much obliged, and passes it back. They part ways -- one with a sketch of himself, the other a bit hungry.

As they walk to the car, his arm around her shoulders, he tells her, "You should have tried it."

the same dead end.

She knows that road. Its dips and turns once intrigued her. The houses, neat and proper, lining its edge, had made her smile. Its young trees had played in the breeze.

Then something changed. The dips became a nuisance, the turns not sharp enough. The houses shown wear and papers sat uncollected on lawns. The trees leaned, twisted and warped.

She left that road. She moved on, found another one, didn't look back.

Yet, years later by chance, she happened by it again and wondered.

Walking down the sidewalk, slowly passing from shadow to sun and back again under the canopy of the now full-grown trees, she smiled...

...knowing where it leads.

Maybe some day we'll meet again,
when our two roads hit the same dead end.
And, oh, I'm countin' the days.
You've got something that I've never since seen,
a willing heart and a pot that's clean.
We're both good at counting the days...

"Your X-ray results have come back from the doctor
and we think we know what the problem is," Jets to Brazil

from 35 to 40

"I clocked you at 43 while it's 35 through here," said the officer, illuminated by red and blue flashing lights.

He had been perched in the valley across from the dam on southeast 29th Street where the speed limit changes, and she saw him too late.

"I'm sorry, I was just coming down that hill...," she replied while handing over her license.

As he walked back to his car, she shielded her eyes. The reflection from her rear view mirror of those flashing lights seemed unnecessarily bright for that time of night. She glanced through her windshield.

Just feet from her front bumper stood the sign: Speed Limit 40.