It’s about the time you see Interstate 65 through your positively-not-shut van hatch that you realize the plan is crazy.
Ill thought out.
Poorly conceived.
It’s the disturbing mix of imagination and the whoosh of passing traffic that confirms it all though.
I have a thing about Craigslist, I’m a little addicted, the rush of the negotiation, the high of the find. Sure, I could end up with a stalking psychopath who eventually kills me, but I could also get a chromed out toaster. Really, it could go either way. I try to keep it local but I almost always end up browsing the “view local results” which, might I point out are not local and should be listed as “potential road trip results”.
