There we were, Mr. Willem Dafoe and I, resting up from our recent trials in the Florida Everglades in the back bed of a dark stranger’s El Camino pick-up car. Little did we know that the man behind the wheel was not just any man, but the infamously unbalanced Florida Man.
“You ever been to Montana?” Stan was asking Aaron. Aaron was falling asleep in the window seat of the airplane that Stan had booked for them not twelve hours ago. From the moment that he had agreed to go on this little sojourn into the upper Midwest, Aaron’s head had been spinning.