Ashley Stussy
Riding in Cars With Ashley (2 of 3)

Surprisingly (and I mean that with a great amount of sarcasm) I
had no service, which continued even after I got out of my car and
circled the highway, recreating those “can you hear me
now” commercials—only no one could hear me.

On the side of the road, there were numerous sets of stairs leading up to houses set up on a hill.  I chose the closest set and after an exhausting climb up the steep, paint-chipped steps, I finally reached the front door of the Jenkin residence; that was, of course, if the big green and yellow corncob mailbox that stood at the bottom of the hill was accurate. 

I knocked on the door and waited for one of the Jenkin family members to open it.  To my relief, the knock was answered within half a minute.  Relief quickly turned to discomfort as the man who opened the door wore nothing but his constricting, white cotton underwear.  Bulging above the tiny piece of fabric was a Buddha-like belly; hair blanketed everything the underwear did not cover.  Like seeing a serious car accident, I wanted to look away, but my eyes would not stray away from the hairy mass of man in front of me.

Once I got my bearings, I stepped into the house and glanced around the room while I told him my situation.  Dead birds, deer, and fish plastered the walls with a blank stare as if to say they have seen this particular outfit before.  Next to the door at which I was standing was a desk that held an ancient computer screen and keyboard.

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