We spent the night at the parking lot, getting up early to catch the sunrise for Paula’s jars, and then we drive on. Paula hasn’t told me where we are heading, but I am sure it will be great.
Around us it is sandy, the desert surrounds us. There is tumbleweed rolling around, and I never knew how freaking huge they can be. Paula has to do a sharp break to avoid us driving head on into a specimen the size of a car.
The radio keeps crackling, searching for stations. The reception is bad out here.
There are clouds on the horizon, and I am sure there is a giant thunderstorm coming for us. And we are in the middle of the desert, with no lightning rods or anything, sitting in a vehicle mad out of metal. This sounds like a death trap.
There is a low, roaring sound in the distance. The light is weird, yellowish, and I feel how the hair on my arm is rising.
The roaring gets louder, coming closer, and I join Paula in the front, so I can properly see through the windscreen. All of the sudden, there is an air plane roaring through the sky, right over the road we are driving on. It comes closer and closer, until we can make out the pilot and co-pilot, and just as I get scared that it would hit us, it just disappeared.
“A la mierda, that had me scared!” Paula has a hand on her chest, and I can see that the hand that is clutching the steering wheel is shaking.
“What the hell was that?!” I ask.
And this is the moment the radio comes back to live.
“I was told by our intern George that the plane was seen again, this time not interrupting the practice of our team, but apparently trying to use the highway as a landing runway. I am pretty sure it is yet again the work of the Desert Bluffs Cacti, trying to distract us from the game this weekend. For shame, Desert Bluffs, for shame!”
The announcer is a male and his voice is soothing, calm, the equivalent of dark brown honey slowly dripping down a spoon. A voice I could listen to for hours.
“Also, the Glow Cloud (all hail!) has been dropping animals again, after their child got detention at school for repeatedly insisting that there are indeed mountains. I am afraid intern George was fatally hit by a falling animal and will be missed. Our best wishes to his family.”
Paula and I look at each other.
“Does that sound strange to you as well?” I ask, but Paula just shrugs.
“Not much stranger than other things I have encountered on my travels,” she says, reaching for her leather bound notebook. “I actually recall reading something along the lines…”
“Anyway, that’s it for now from me. I have a breakfast date with my wonderful husband Carlos. So, my lovely listeners, I say goodbye to you for now. Goodnight – no, it is morning, isn’t it? I am covering this segment. Right. So. I will leave you with the weather. And afterwards, a recording of a snoring dog in front of a crackling wood fire. I will leave you now. Good morning, Night Vale, good morning!”
And then, more quiet, apparently he had moved away from the microphone, but not yet turned it off, “Good night. Good morning sounds wrong. Good night, Night Vale, good night. Now, that is better.”
And then the sound cut off and was replaced by the first notes of music.
“I thought he said there would be the weather,” I say.
Paula has stopped Jolene and is flipping through her book.
“So we actually made it to Night Vale…”
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