The beggining of my weekend story

When I lost internet I started reading too much, when I read too much I tend to change my writing style... Sorry about that

A few days ago I woke up before everyone else did, the day before that after rising at 8:00 I was greeted with “how goes it sleepyhead, we’ve been up for an hour and a half already.” Damn it was only 8:00. It was the morning and therefore accompanied with the usual grogginess, haziness, and pleasantries; I may not be a morning person but there are a few aspects that even a grump like me can grow to appreciate. We hurried out the door at 8:30, what a crew in our tee shirts and chacos hoping to catch the 9:00 bus. I doubt that we would have gotten a seat even if we had arrived at 6, 7, or 8. The short bus was already packed, and despite people trying to help us (both bus employees and random stand bys) there was no way that 3, 2, or even 1 of us was going to make it onto that bus. A quick regroup ended with a decision for Kyle and I to hitch hike down to Elbason, while one volunteer would stay and enjoy a coffee before taking the 12:00 bus out.

One has to be careful in Puke, it has started to gain a reputation for hurt ankles. Many a volunteer has taken one wrong step and become yet another Puke curb casualty. I have always had super skills at avoiding nasty things in sidewalks , my natural walk—head down, shoulders slumped, a complete lack of posture—ensures that I see everything in my path. This skill has even gone onto a group skill sheet “Libby Horwitz: Talent, spotting dog crap on the road.” My friend to whom I point out every hole, ditch, bump, and notch in the road assures me that this might just perchance be a bit overkill, but I think he will think differently on the day he falls into a ditch while I was not there to point it out to him. What would people do without me?

But we make it through the treacherous roads of Puke to a small clearing next to a gas station. And we wait. When a car every 5 minutes passes I begin to wonder if hitching will get us anywhere at all. A car stops, the first one. They aren’t going where we need to go but at least we’re one for one. Kyle and I take turns choosing cheesy songs to sing; I’m the one who wants to be with you, Beach Boys, and so on, a Land rover comes into site “strap me to your land rover, une jam gati!” Kyle jokes before it pulls over to us. Kyle goes to talk to the two nuns sitting in the front. “Ne do te skojme ne Tirana,” he states “We are only going to a nearby village, sorry,” one replies in perfect English. As they drive away we remiss about how we were unable get a ride with two nuns in a land rover. Kyle says “we met two nuns but they were not willing to go all the way.” I tell Kyle “strap me to your land rover, I am ready” will be my new pick up line for all of time.