Directions
It was about 7:30 or so on a Saturday night when I realized I left my phone in the car. I went out into the twilight to retrieve it, then stopped on the porch for a moment or two to watch the late birds dart through the branches. That's when I saw the car moving slowly down the street. It was a Pinto, strangely enough, and though it was difficult to tell by the streetlight, it looked brown, but new. The dome light was on, so I could see two people inside, arguing quietly, a strangely familiar woman and a thin guy with long hair. I saw her point at me, and the guy opened the door and got out, walking up the sidewalk. He was thin, painfully so, with long light brown hair, and a pair of aviator glasses sliding down his nose. He had almost made it all the way to the porch steps — nearly tripping once over a small branch in his path — before I recognized him. It was me. "Hi, uh, sorry to bother you, but, uh, have you heard of the, uh, Gusman Theater? I think it's around here...