Garoo

So it took a promotion on air conditioners for me to travel all the way to Rennes, the closest real city. One hour on the highway, sixty minutes having nothing else to do but watch the little needle on my speed dial — do they really expect people to believe you’re better drivers when you’re bored and focusing all your attention on your dashboard? Anyway, it was as boring as expected, although just a little quicker. And I didn’t even take advantage of the trip to visit the city… after I spent one hour walking around the store to try and phone my parents who weren’t reachable anyway, then another hour trying hard to collapse the car’s damn backseat, not to mention that I hate driving around in a city with my rearview mirror blocked by a couple of air conditioners, I just wasn’t in the mood (and the smell, and the cleanliness) for a tour of gay Rennes. I did try out the rest area on the way back, but it was deserted (though, considering the poor, lonely truck driver who got his hopes up when I went to piss, I clearly got the place right). Fucking Saturday, fucking countryside. I almost felt like crying as I was visiting the local Centre Leclerc — a real hypermarket! I had forgotten what that was like!

What the hell am I doing here?
I don’t belong here