Directions from Strangers

There’s a sign saying go left

And a sign saying turn around

I pull up on the gravel

And count to ten

Beneath the tires

It feels like air

Being let out

And I count my blessings

That the hotel is in walking distance

If it should come to that

I get out of the car

And see a gas station

A few hundred feet away

Why not, I ask myself

And make my way over

The gas station

Is sun-bleached

And stripped down

To nothing

But spare tires

And chewing gum

I see a woman standing

Next to the cash register

Behind the counter

And I ask her

If she knows a good way

To get to Brighton-Turner

She asks if I just need a way

Or a good way

And I tell her

Any way is fine

Because I got a hotel

Within walking distance

And I can take the night to rest up

And start out in the morning

If I need to

She tells me

I can go six miles east

And I’ll get to Brighton

And twelve miles north

And that’ll take me to Turner

But nobody’s been to Brighton-Turner

Since the eighties

And people shouldn’t start going now

Just because they feel like it

I tell her I have business there

And she says it must be bad business

And I say all business

Is bad business

But she doesn’t laugh

And I guess I really wasn’t joking

So oh well

There doesn’t seem to be a map anywhere

And there’s nobody else to talk to

So I start walking

Towards the hotel

When a car pulls up alongside me

And asks me where I’m headed

‘Brighton-Turner,’ I say

And the driver

A bearded gentleman

With both hands on the wheel

And hair falling in his face

Tells me he can take me there

‘You know where it is,’ I ask him

And he says he goes there all the time

He’s not a good liar

But he doesn’t have a tell either

I’m just really good

At sniffing out bullshit

Even when it’s buried under

All that hair and charm

‘Why don’t you just tell me how to get there,’ I say to him

And he says it’s tricky

I tell him give me a shot

I’m good at puzzles

And figuring out how to get somewhere

It’s just everybody says

There is no more Brighton-Turner

He keeps edging his car along

Before he tells me

That if I keep walking down the road--

‘Or a car,’ he says, ‘You got a car?’

I tell him I do have a car

He goes--’Okay’

And he says drive eleven miles down the road

Make two lefts and two rights

Drive a little bit more

And the signs will do the rest

I thank him and he pulls away

When I get back to my car

The windshield is busted

And there’s a note in the backseat

Telling me I’d be better off

Going back to wherever it is I’m from

Instead I leave the keys on the front seat

And start walking down the road

I’m curious to see how far I’ll get

Before I’m so lost

Nobody can help me