Hitchhiker in Residence

My adventures with Writers X and Y continue. Yesterday, we went to the beach and spread out a sheet on the sand. It was a warm day, and I was scoping out the hotties. Being around women has rocked, y’all, and at the same time, I miss men terribly. I had dreams the first few nights I was here about mundane moments with strange men, where I’d ask them if they were in line, or for a cigarette, etc. Yesterday after the beach– where writer Y went to the water to wade, and writer X and I sat on the sheet and mulled our work, characters etc.– we began our drive back to the farm when we saw a shirtless guy, big, sort of cut, hitchhiking on the side of the road. I said, “Hot!” Writer X, who was driving, said, “Should we?” And I screamed, “Fuck yeah! Do it.” So we picked up the hitchhiker and drove him to the grocery store in town. The poor man was terrified of us. He told writer Y that he’d walked all around Mutiny Bay, and had been out walking since dawn. The whole ride over, I was dying to ask, “So…How did you end up without a shirt…Or a car?” But I didn’t, just stole coy glances at him and hoped he’d appear later, in a not-so-mundane dream.

3 thoughts on “Hitchhiker in Residence

  1. dude–it was a TOTAL “Bradd Pitt in ‘Thelma and Louise'” moment! Except there was a 3rd chick (me, Writer Y) in the backseat.

    Hrm. I think I will blog about it too, keeping Writer X anonymous of course, so it’s a sort of “she said…she said” narrative.

  2. hey–what’s your cell number now? when you get out of paradise please do call me chica!

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