Sunday, November 30, 2008



They had reached some area of the world that seemed to be entirely made up of billboards. As if billboards sprung out of the yellow earth like the kudzu vine strangling the hillsides. What’s that mean? She pointed at a large white sign with blue lettering. I mean, what’s it selling. He leaned over her shoulder and with both hands on the wheel still ducked so he could read it. God, he answered. It’s selling God. She stared at him and said, Sometimes I wish I could write you a letter. A long one with real stamps. She was watching his hands hold the wheel so gracefully, without any fear at all. What would it say? She looked at the view past his profile and the cars careening close and said, Oh I don’t know, it’d probably just say, Remember that time we were in the car and there was a billboard selling God? I’d like to be back there now. Trapped in a tiny car talking about nothing. The billboards went on for miles and when she woke up there were none, just trees going by in the dark.