"Listen to the words, they'll tell you what to do." - Bono
I'd always dreamed of going on a roadtrip with my big brother.... it finally happened last Saturday. We had lots of fun, too. A whole lot!
As with everything else, my brother and I left out with an intent: To make the trip to Maryland, stop by our cousin's house, pick up a few cartons of cheap cigarettes, and call it a trip as we made our way back to the big city.
It was 8:30 PM when we left that night from our grandparents' house, but first, we made a quick stop to the ATM at the check-cashing down the street to pull out some money for the many, and plenty of tolls which we were soon to come across. Of course, as our luck would have it: The ATM wasn't working, so we made our way to the nearest Duane Reade which was seven minutes away. Once there, I recall very well, a woman throwing a fit because she'd just ran over a glass bottle.... something I took as a bad omen for some reason (and I was right - more on that later).
Anyhow, I went into the place, got the cash out of the ATM, got my brother some Red Bull, set the GPS in the truck, and we were on our way.
The I-95 took us from New York, to New Jersey (where we paused at a rest stop and picked up some very delicious Bacon Cheesebugers and Curly Fries from Roy Rogers), then to Pennsylvania, Delaware, and finally: We were in Maryland by 1:30 AM. By the time we'd gotten there, we'd been through (as I counted) twenty-two tolls (and as my brother pointed out during the ride: There's no reason why we should be in a recession with that many tolls and with those steep fees).
Of all the times my brother and I had been to Maryland, since we were very small children, in fact, the place always seemed to be really eerie after sundown, especially in the middle of the deep, dark night (no pun intended) as it were on that particular night.
We met our cousin, Rita, in her driveway, while our aunt and other relatives were still asleep. To be honest, I couldn't help but to play around with the Michael Westen-styled voice over which kept overtaking my mind, simply because the whole thing felt like a covert operation of some sort. It was fun.
Yeah, it was fun up until I got out of the truck while my brother and our cousin were talking, when I proceeded to sit on the back bumper, and to my initial alarm, I saw something out of the corner of my left eye as I was busy taking in the MANY stars only visible in that kind of countryside night-sky.
At first, I didn't think anything special of what I was seeing from my peripheral, but as soon as I looked to my left and saw that the blur in the corner of my eye was indeed a red-coated fox, I was amazed.... and pretty scared. Very scared. And for good reason, because the second I stood up, he (or quite possibly she) started growling at me. The weirdest part of all: There was a broken glass bottle right at my feet.
As anyone reading this could imagine, I sprinted my way back into the truck at the drop of a hat. Even after I made my way back into the '96 Ford Explorer, the growls of my newfound foxy friend continued - this time, causing my cousin to hop in the truck with us as we were pulling off. Animals hate me for some reason, always have, always will, I suppose - it's totally unfair! Cats, dogs, turtles, goldfish, you name it; they've just got a deep disliking for your's truly. But I digress.
Not long afterwards, my brother and I made our way to the nearest seven-eleven about a mile backwards. They didn't sell cartons. Just our luck. We drove nine miles to the next seven-eleven. Neither did they. Pimps and broken-down prostitutes were lined up outside of the store, but no.... no cigarettes this time around.
So, upon returning back to our cousin's home to drop her off because she had to work the next morning, my brother got the spontaneous idea to drive down to a cigarette and tobacco outlet that our cousin had mentioned to us off-handedly when we first pulled into her driveway about an hour earlier.... but the outlet was in North Carolina. A four hour drive, according to the GPS, but we were up for it, of course, being the young and restless guys we are.
But before we headed back to the highway, we checked ONE more seven-eleven. They didn't sell them either. Lavonn got himself another Red Bull though.
So, like a Sam and Dean Winchester adventure straight out of "Supernatural," we drove what was left of the night away, all-the-while passing Virginia and straight into North Carolina.
Pretty much like Maryland, except a whole lot hotter, North Carolina was a desolate place. Luckily for me, I had the likes of U2, Coldplay, Nine Inch Nails, and Staind to keep me company in the form of my infamous CD collection.
By 8 AM, now Sunday, we had the uncanny luck of coming across a fill-in station which sold their cartons for only thirty dollars a pack, while we were still on our way to the big outlet which sold them for ten dollars more. For my brother, I'm sure it was kind of like finding the holy grail of fill-in stations.
Nine hours later, after stopping for an hour so my brother could catch some sleep, slugging through mild traffic afterwards, and pausing our wheels at MORE tolls than before, we made it back to the Big Apple. It was a bit depressing, for me atleast, to go from such nice, quiet, and clean places such as Maryland, Virginia, and North Carolina, back to the pot-hole and garbage filled streets of New York City.
All in all, atleast the trip wasn't for nothing - we succeeded in accomplishing what we originally set out to, and we had fun doing it. We lived out our trip the way we wanted to, and another dream of mine found a new home in the reality of things.
Like Sal and Dean, the friends who drove across the country in Jack Kerouac's On The Road, and like Sam and Dean - the brothers who (loosely based off of Kerouac's characters) grew up on the highways of the United States together, my brother and I cemented our brotherhood with our landmark drive down the greater part of the eastern seaboard together.
Every Sam has his Dean, and every DaiQuan has his Lavonn....
I'd always dreamed of going on a roadtrip with my big brother.... it finally happened last Saturday. We had lots of fun, too. A whole lot!
As with everything else, my brother and I left out with an intent: To make the trip to Maryland, stop by our cousin's house, pick up a few cartons of cheap cigarettes, and call it a trip as we made our way back to the big city.
It was 8:30 PM when we left that night from our grandparents' house, but first, we made a quick stop to the ATM at the check-cashing down the street to pull out some money for the many, and plenty of tolls which we were soon to come across. Of course, as our luck would have it: The ATM wasn't working, so we made our way to the nearest Duane Reade which was seven minutes away. Once there, I recall very well, a woman throwing a fit because she'd just ran over a glass bottle.... something I took as a bad omen for some reason (and I was right - more on that later).
Anyhow, I went into the place, got the cash out of the ATM, got my brother some Red Bull, set the GPS in the truck, and we were on our way.
The I-95 took us from New York, to New Jersey (where we paused at a rest stop and picked up some very delicious Bacon Cheesebugers and Curly Fries from Roy Rogers), then to Pennsylvania, Delaware, and finally: We were in Maryland by 1:30 AM. By the time we'd gotten there, we'd been through (as I counted) twenty-two tolls (and as my brother pointed out during the ride: There's no reason why we should be in a recession with that many tolls and with those steep fees).
Of all the times my brother and I had been to Maryland, since we were very small children, in fact, the place always seemed to be really eerie after sundown, especially in the middle of the deep, dark night (no pun intended) as it were on that particular night.
We met our cousin, Rita, in her driveway, while our aunt and other relatives were still asleep. To be honest, I couldn't help but to play around with the Michael Westen-styled voice over which kept overtaking my mind, simply because the whole thing felt like a covert operation of some sort. It was fun.
Yeah, it was fun up until I got out of the truck while my brother and our cousin were talking, when I proceeded to sit on the back bumper, and to my initial alarm, I saw something out of the corner of my left eye as I was busy taking in the MANY stars only visible in that kind of countryside night-sky.
At first, I didn't think anything special of what I was seeing from my peripheral, but as soon as I looked to my left and saw that the blur in the corner of my eye was indeed a red-coated fox, I was amazed.... and pretty scared. Very scared. And for good reason, because the second I stood up, he (or quite possibly she) started growling at me. The weirdest part of all: There was a broken glass bottle right at my feet.
As anyone reading this could imagine, I sprinted my way back into the truck at the drop of a hat. Even after I made my way back into the '96 Ford Explorer, the growls of my newfound foxy friend continued - this time, causing my cousin to hop in the truck with us as we were pulling off. Animals hate me for some reason, always have, always will, I suppose - it's totally unfair! Cats, dogs, turtles, goldfish, you name it; they've just got a deep disliking for your's truly. But I digress.
Not long afterwards, my brother and I made our way to the nearest seven-eleven about a mile backwards. They didn't sell cartons. Just our luck. We drove nine miles to the next seven-eleven. Neither did they. Pimps and broken-down prostitutes were lined up outside of the store, but no.... no cigarettes this time around.
So, upon returning back to our cousin's home to drop her off because she had to work the next morning, my brother got the spontaneous idea to drive down to a cigarette and tobacco outlet that our cousin had mentioned to us off-handedly when we first pulled into her driveway about an hour earlier.... but the outlet was in North Carolina. A four hour drive, according to the GPS, but we were up for it, of course, being the young and restless guys we are.
But before we headed back to the highway, we checked ONE more seven-eleven. They didn't sell them either. Lavonn got himself another Red Bull though.
So, like a Sam and Dean Winchester adventure straight out of "Supernatural," we drove what was left of the night away, all-the-while passing Virginia and straight into North Carolina.
Pretty much like Maryland, except a whole lot hotter, North Carolina was a desolate place. Luckily for me, I had the likes of U2, Coldplay, Nine Inch Nails, and Staind to keep me company in the form of my infamous CD collection.
By 8 AM, now Sunday, we had the uncanny luck of coming across a fill-in station which sold their cartons for only thirty dollars a pack, while we were still on our way to the big outlet which sold them for ten dollars more. For my brother, I'm sure it was kind of like finding the holy grail of fill-in stations.
Nine hours later, after stopping for an hour so my brother could catch some sleep, slugging through mild traffic afterwards, and pausing our wheels at MORE tolls than before, we made it back to the Big Apple. It was a bit depressing, for me atleast, to go from such nice, quiet, and clean places such as Maryland, Virginia, and North Carolina, back to the pot-hole and garbage filled streets of New York City.
All in all, atleast the trip wasn't for nothing - we succeeded in accomplishing what we originally set out to, and we had fun doing it. We lived out our trip the way we wanted to, and another dream of mine found a new home in the reality of things.
Like Sal and Dean, the friends who drove across the country in Jack Kerouac's On The Road, and like Sam and Dean - the brothers who (loosely based off of Kerouac's characters) grew up on the highways of the United States together, my brother and I cemented our brotherhood with our landmark drive down the greater part of the eastern seaboard together.
Every Sam has his Dean, and every DaiQuan has his Lavonn....
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