by Bud Smith
“I remember driving very fast down Double Trouble Road in Berkley Township, NJ. I’d had my license for a year and hadn’t even wrecked yet. There had been a forest fire a few years before and all the pines were charred. But there was new sprigs of green coming up out of the last of the dirty snow and I didn’t have a job.
I was in love but my ex-girlfriend was off at college and we’d broken up because I wasn’t going to college with her or college anywhere else. There’d really been that line drawn in the sand. If I didn’t go to school we couldn’t keep dating.
The coins on the dresser were enough to get a quarter tank of gas and a newspaper. Later that day I’d drive around and look for a job, or I wouldn’t. Tax returns were about to come and my rent was already paid a few months ahead with my easy going landlord parents. I got a cup of coffee at Wawa and instead of answering the ad for telemarketer or furniture delivery or factory line work, I headed back into the development where I grew up. The development that popped to life the same year that the nuclear power plant came and the workers needed places to live. I went home. And like a zillion other humans with lives wide open, on a whim, I decided I was going to write a novel.”
Read the full story at Real Pants