What the...? [Narrative/Open]
Boyd Crowder enjoyed a classic science fiction novel as much as the next appreciative reader, but he never had the strong desire to find himself inside of one. How else to account for the fact that he was lost, wandering inside the world's most generic city ever created on God's Green Earth, pardon the expression, or assuming he was even on the same planet anymore?
Boyd Crowder wasn't a City Boy. It wasn't that he couldn't appreciate the tall buildings or even that he'd never been in a city before. Why, Lexington was a considerable city in it's own right, but Boyd never had the desire to be trapped in one. He found a bus schedule, but there were no other destinations outside the metropolis. Hell, he would have hitchhiked but there were no great American highways that appeared to connect to this place.
"Alright then. Say I'm dreaming," he spoke calmly to himself. "I think I've just about overstayed my welcome and it might be time to wake up from this vivid locale."
He knew it wasn't a dream. Dreams were never this all encompassing. They didn't have the detail, the smell, the soft sound of traffic or chitter of urban wildlife. Boyd knew and yet it didn't quite stop him from hoping that this wasn't just the after effects of Jimmy's wake. Had services even been held? Boyd would have inebrieted himself more than enough for his subconscious to come up with something this peculiar, not just for Jimmy's death but the up in the air return of his ex-fiance.
He wasn't drunk in his dream. In fact, Boyd felt very sober. Perhaps it was time to change that. Mr. Crowder headed straight for the nearest bar thinking that a stiff bourbon might at least temporarily calm his anxieties.
Boyd Crowder wasn't a City Boy. It wasn't that he couldn't appreciate the tall buildings or even that he'd never been in a city before. Why, Lexington was a considerable city in it's own right, but Boyd never had the desire to be trapped in one. He found a bus schedule, but there were no other destinations outside the metropolis. Hell, he would have hitchhiked but there were no great American highways that appeared to connect to this place.
"Alright then. Say I'm dreaming," he spoke calmly to himself. "I think I've just about overstayed my welcome and it might be time to wake up from this vivid locale."
He knew it wasn't a dream. Dreams were never this all encompassing. They didn't have the detail, the smell, the soft sound of traffic or chitter of urban wildlife. Boyd knew and yet it didn't quite stop him from hoping that this wasn't just the after effects of Jimmy's wake. Had services even been held? Boyd would have inebrieted himself more than enough for his subconscious to come up with something this peculiar, not just for Jimmy's death but the up in the air return of his ex-fiance.
He wasn't drunk in his dream. In fact, Boyd felt very sober. Perhaps it was time to change that. Mr. Crowder headed straight for the nearest bar thinking that a stiff bourbon might at least temporarily calm his anxieties.