Американские боги

           Itdidnotseemtomatterwhichroadhetook,whichdirectionhedrovedownthenarrowcountrylanes—thetwistingVirginiabackroadswhichmusthavebegun,hewassure,asdeertrailsandcowpaths—eventuallyhewouldfindhimselfpassingthefarmoncemore,andthehand-paintedsign,ASH.

           Thiswascrazy,wasn’tit?Hesimplyhadtoretracehisway,takealeftturnforeveryrighthehadtakenonhiswayhere,arightturnforeveryleft.

           Onlythatwaswhathehaddonelasttime,andnowherehewas,backatthefarmoncemore.Therewereheavystormcloudscomingin,itwasgettingdarkfast,itfeltlikenight,notmorning,andhehadalongdriveaheadofhim:hewouldnevergettoChattanoogabeforeafternoonatthisrate.

           HiscellphonegavehimonlyaNoServicemessage.Thefold-outmapinthecar’sglovecompartmentshowedthemainroads,alltheinterstatesandtherealhighways,butasfarasitwasconcernednothingelseexisted.

           Norwasthereanyonearoundthathecouldask.Thehousesweresetbackfromtheroads;therewerenowelcominglights.NowthefuelgaugewasnudgingEmpty.Heheardarumbleofdistantthunder,andasingledropofrainsplashedheavilyontohiswindshield.

           SowhenTownsawthewomanwalkingalongthesideoftheroad,hefoundhimselfsmiling,involuntarily."ThankGod,"hesaid,aloud,andhedrewupbesideher.Hethumbeddownherwindow."Ma’am?I’msorry.I’mkindoflost.