Terry from Gainesville

Once inside I went straight to the bar and asked how to get to Gainesville.

“Take the train.” 

“Yes I know. I’m looking for Terry.” 

“That’s me.” 

Terry was ragged and kind of homeless and crazy looking. Like someone who just sniffed too much lighter fluid and thought he had become the roadrunner after seeing the decal on the side of a car, but was trapped behind a bar and couldn’t run away. 

“We are driving, Terry. The old guy out front said you had just come back from Gainesville and would be able to tell us a way there.”

“I can. Take the train.”

“Well, we’re not leaving our car and I know there must be some way there via road.”

“There is a road here that goes straight there. Across the mountains. The big highway is closed. I know this is the old highway that runs past the brewery. You get to the train station by turning around and heading back about 5 miles. Flight.” 

OK. He’s fucking insane. This should be interesting. 

“How about a couple of IPAs and a Coke, Terry?”

“I can’t tell you the right directions. It is so much easier to go back to the train station. That’s all.” 

“No problem, Terry.” 

He went to get our drinks. 

“This guy’s a piece of work, whatever directions he tells us, we better listen!” I said to Dave and Jason. They agreed, about him being a piece of work anyhow. And we discussed that he probably needed more meds or less alcohol. 

Soon Terry was back with the drinks and as I paid him I said, “Do you have family in Gainesville?”

“You mean like Al Qaeda? Saddam Hussein, Osama bin Laden, Charles Manson, the Devil, Adolph Hitler, Jack the Ripper, Stalin. I hope I didn’t leave anyone out. There’s a place. There’s an exact location and a point where all that bad comes from. I know I was there once and wish I had taken a picture of it. I can’t prove it to you, but I can see it.”