Onion Town

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5.3 Miles to the glorious oasis of Onion Town.

There are no whitewashed signs with Veranda style letters welcoming you to this paradise. Only empty shotgun shells the color of candy letters you put on a childs birthday cake, and half eaten trailers.

3.:42 am, glows orange from my dashboard. This was a bad fucking idea.

Mutant residents creep around my car with weapons that would only be comprehensible in a 1987 horror flick. Make your move, buddy.

You would think these people grew up next to a power plant, or nuclear bomb site.  Did that man just have an extra arm? Take another sip of water, blink your eyes, calm down. 

Tarps for roofs, bricks for steps, I try to feel for these people, but I cant. Go back to school. Go get a real job. Go get some medication for whatever is rotting on your face.

6'4", red and black flannel shirt, and a beard with no end. I am almost positive this man is not wearing pants. The residents of this "town" seem to be not of this world.

4 almost functional motor homes, 2 dogs with three legs, and one sawed off shotgun later, I find no sign  thanking me for visiting "Onion Town"

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67 Miles per hour, on my way back to earth.