Off the Interstate

I can’t remember when I turned off the Interstate. If you ask me, I don’t think I did. Anyway, I drive through a neat, pretty town with mature trees and one-storey houses. How do I get back to the highway and home? I park and get out.

I walk towards a garage that seems to be open. Maybe I can find someone to help me. Anyway, I have my phone with me and can use the GPS. I check it just in case. It’s dead. Back to the car to charge it.

There’s a glaringly empty spot where I left my car.

At the police station, where I’m trying to report the theft of my car, two Muppet-looking police officers are telling jokes to a small audience. Where am I? What kind of town is this?

An alarm goes. Is the police station on fire? I try to run, but my legs won’t move. I try to shout for help, but the scream dies in my throat.

I can still hear that ringing.

I wake up with a jolt.

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