Good Griff!

by Von Snootingham

Ch 04: Escape From New York

 
 
“Hurry it up!” I yell toward the bathroom. “What are you doing in there, princess? I’m sure your makeup looks fine!”
 
Steve shouts back to me, “I had to make some calls to arrange my disappearance. I couldn’t just not show up to work. You should do the same. And while you may be content to just throw some shit in a bag, I’m making sure I’m prepared. Who knows how long we’ll be out there. Did you even bring a toothbru-,” he pauses mid-sentence. Then after a few seconds, “Huh.”
 
“What?”
 
“Um… I have no balls,” he says in confusion, almost more to himself than to me.
 
I laugh, “Ha! What else is new? Everybody already knew that!”
 
He cracks the door and peeks out. “No, seriously. My balls are gone.”
 
I burst out laughing. Steve looks embarrassed. When I’m done, I tell him, “Good one. I’m feeling out of whack like that myself right now.”
 
He blushes. “I’m serious. I think I’m turning into a woman.”
 
Oh. My. God. I thought his accent was the funniest thing I’d ever heard. This beats it hands down. I laugh again. This time I’m so hysterical I can’t breathe.
 
Steve slams the door. “It’s not funny!”
 
“Whatever, man, this is hilarious,” I guffaw. “Oh, I’m sorry, I mean ‘girl’. I guess you really are ‘princess’ now. Anyway, it’s, like, 5:30. You said we were going to leave a half an hour ago. Shove your tampons in your purse, hand me my toothbrush, and let’s gooooo!”
 
The door flies open and Steve thrusts my toothbrush at me. He’s wearing a look of irritated resignation. “You’re hilarious. Look, this is kind of a big deal for me. Give me a couple minutes to deal with this. Then I’ll finish packing and we’ll be out of here by six. “
 
“Fine,” I huff at him, “Baby.  I’m gonna go call work.” I turn around and walk into my room. I take note of my pile of supplies. One duffle bag with a couple days worth of clothes, a spare pair of running shoes, hiking boots, and some hygiene stuff, now including my toothbrush. One camping backpack stuffed with my outdoorsy supplies, tools and sleeping bag. And of course, one four person tent. I never went camping with four people though. One of my girlfriends was a hiking fiend and got me into it. After I broke up with her, I brought a couple other girls out to meet the call of the wild, but most weren’t real thrilled. Their loss. I love getting out into the woods now and then.
 
So yeah, I’ve got everything I need. Don’t know what’s taking that lazy bastard so long. Whatevs.  I slip my phone out of my pocket and dial with one hand, while absently scratching my back with the other. My back is getting super itchy. I also feel this hard lump back there. That can’t be good.
 
“OW!” I yelp. Fuck, I scratched myself pretty bad. As the line rings, I examine my hands. They’re starting to get dry, scaly, and damn, them suckers is gettin' sharp. You might say “claw-like”. The phone clicks and I hear an automated menu start to play. The receptionist leaves at five, but my boss should be there until seven today, so I dial his extension. It rings once and he picks up.
 
“Go for the Danman!” he practically sings.
 
“Hey, mah main man, Dan!” I give him the typical greeting. My boss, Dan, is the friendliest guy on the planet. He has a personalized routine for each of his employees that we have to go through.
 
He recognizes my voice and give me the usual response. “All hail Gayle! What’s the word, Gaylebird?” Ha, bird. I’d laugh at the irony if it weren’t so stupid. The nickname was always stupid. I guess he got it from rhyming with “jailbird”? Who the fuck knows. I like the guy. He’s nice but kind of an idiot and kind of irritating. Wherever the name came from, it sure makes sense now. I wonder if the universe planned this whole thing out ahead of time.
 
“I gots me a problem, Danman. I’m gonna need some time off,” I tell him.
 
“Sure thing, Bird. How much?” he asks.
 
“Um, that’s the problem. I don’t know. I’ve… uh… got a family emergency?” I make up on the spot. Prolly shoulda planned this.
 
“Wait,” he says, his voice losing some of its friendliness, “you want to take off immediately? And you don’t know how long you’ll be gone. You’re putting me in a bind here, Bird.”
 
“I know, Dan, but I have to go out of town. We had a sickness in the family. Oh, and um… someone died? Yeah, that’s right. It was real bad. Real black death kind of shit, you know wh-” I interrupt myself. At the end there, my voice changed. It got higher and a little raspy. Great.
 
I clear my throat. And try again. “Sorry about that,” I say carefully. Yes! Back to normal. “I think I’m getting sick myself. Sore throat.”
 
He doesn’t say anything for a couple seconds, but then, “Welllll alright, Bird. If it was anyone else, I’d have told ‘em ‘no’. But you’ve never taken a day off the entire time you’ve been here, so I trust you. Also means you have the vacation saved up. Go ‘take care of your family’ and make sure you don’t get sick yourself. I can’t have you getting… ‘black death’. Just promise you’ll keep me updated so I know when you’re coming back.”
 
“Will do! Thanks a lot, Dan!” I cheer, “You really are the man!” I hang up.
 
“B-b-b-booyah! Who says Gayle doesn’t know how to lie?” I ask the empty room as I pump my fists.
 
Before my phone has even left my hand, it starts to ring. Aw balls. Well that good mood didn’t last long. It’s Ellen.
 
I pick up. “Heybabe,I’msorryaboutbefore,” I rush to apologize.
 
Ellen sighs, “Gayle Gayle Gayle. What am I going to do with you?”
 
I can’t resist. “Fuck me? I still have that rain check.”
 
“And there it is.”
 
“Where what is?” I ask.
 
“See, you don’t even know it,” Ellen tells me. What is she going on about? Sometimes girls are such a mystery to me. Just say what you mean, dammit.
 
She continues, “Gayle, sometimes I think you have a one track mind. You never listen to me. How many times have I asked you one simple thing? Don’t call me at work. And you can’t remember that. You can’t remember my birthday. But you remember when I mention sex. That’s the only thing you do remember. I feel like that’s the only thing you ever think about: sex. Sex and running.”
 
Oh boy, this old chestnut. She had to pick now for this shit. As if my day weren’t bad enough. As long as she doesn’t tell me we “need to have a serious talk about our relationship.”
 
She’s still going on, “-first time we were in bed you called me ‘Ann’. It’s like you go through so many girls you can’t even keep track. Are you even listening to me? I think I need to come over there and we need to have a serious talk about our relationship.”
 
Gaaaah. Okay, time to nip this in the bud. “Okay okay, Ellen stop. I love you and you’re absolutely right. But you can’t come over.”
 
“What?! Why not? I’m already on my way. You have to take responsibility for this,” she yells.
 
“Baby, you’re SURE nothing weird is happening to you?” I ask. My voice changed again. Shit. I clear my throat.
 
“Other than you? No. What is going on?” is her response.
 
“Then you can’t come over. Or if you do, there won’t be anyone here,” I warn her, my voice cracking again at the end.
 
“Damn it, Gayle what the heck are you talking about? And what’s wrong with your voice?”
 
I clear my throat again. “Ellen, I’m sorry I called you before, but there really IS an emergency,” I say, my voice breaking again. I don’t bother to try correcting it. I guess this is my voice from now on. “I can’t explain what’s going on. You wouldn’t even believe me if I told you. Fuck, I’m not even sure I believe it. But Steve and I, we gotta get out of town.”
 
Ellen’s voice raises about an octave, “WHAT?! What’s going on?! Where are you going?! When will you be back?!”
 
“I don’t know,” I answer, “We just have to get out of the city. We don’t know where we’re going or how long we’ll be gone, but we have to go. I’ll try to contact you when this all blows over,” I promise her. I’m trying to keep strong about this. Crying is for little girls. It’s just not cool. But dammit, I like this girl, even if she can act like a bossy mother hen.
 
“Gayle, wait! Just wait for me to get there! We can talk-“
 
“I’m sorry, Ellen,” I interrupt, “I’ll be in touch. I love you.” I hang up the phone.
 
It immediately starts ringing again. I almost hit “answer”. I want to so badly. Instead, I turn it off.
 
Shit.
 
I sigh. As if life weren’t hard enough without this. We’ve got to get out here.
 
I drop my phone in my pocket and scratch my back again. Something’s going on back there. I make sure my tail is tucked into the leg of my jeans so it’s not showing. I strap on a pair of calf-high boots. I tried regular sneakers, but my paws just kind of slid around in them and they didn’t do dick to hide them. Next, I throw on my favorite hoodie, grab my brown leather gloves and shove my hands into them. I’m going to need them to hide myself. I walk back out into the main room.
 
I call out, “Hey, pony princess! You ready?”
 
“Gayle?” he calls back, “Is that you? Your voice. You sound like Gilda.”
 
“Yeah yeah, I noticed. Now I’ve got an angry, panicky girlfriend rushing over here like a bat out of hell. We gotta get outta here NOW!”
 
Just then, he comes out of his room. He? It’s hard to tell. I hadn’t really noticed it before, but his face has kind of softened up and he’s starting to look pretty girly. It’s hard to tell beneath the baggy hoodie he’s got on now, but I think he’s lost some weight too.
 
He looks surprised. “What? Ellen is coming here? Now?” he asks, “Well bloody fucking hell. Let’s skedaddle. Let me start moving my stuff. It’s going to take a couple trips.”
 
“A couple trips? What’re you taking? Everything?” I taunt him, “Well fine, you start getting it to the elevator, I’m gonna hit the can before we go.”
 
He goes back into his room and comes out with a backpack and a suitcase. I go into the bathroom and start to do my business. No, I’m not going to describe it, you sicko. I do notice that the fur has spread further up my legs. Then I notice something else feels… different. I look down.
 
Huh. Well that’s weird. Gonna have to ask about that. Oh, hmm, and that too. That’s even weirder.
 
I finish up, wash my hands, and I’m back out. I cross over to my room and grab my gear. Steve’s just grabbing the last of his stuff from his room. I have a last minute thought. I grab a piece of paper from the kitchen counter, jot a quick note, and put a piece of tape on it.
 
Steve’s waiting out in the hall. “You coming?” he nags me.
 
I follow after him. Just as I’m closing the door, I pause. I open it back up and take one last look at our apartment. It’s funny. I never thought much of the place. It was just a few bland white walls where I came to sleep, watch TV, and store my stuff. But suddenly it feels like I’m leaving a part of myself. When did I get so attached to the place?
 
“Something wrong?” Steve asks.
 
“I just got this feeling like I’m never going to see this place again. We are coming back, aren’t we?”
 
His voice is gentle, “I don’t know. I hope so.” He smacks me on the back with one of his bags, which is surprisingly painful. He’s all cheer now. “If anyone can manage this boondoggle, it’s us. Are you getting sentimental in your old age?”
 
I close the door and lock it. I stick the note to the door. It reads, “See you, cowgirl. I’m sorry. –G”
 

“Nah, man,” I smile, “Now, come on, let’s blow this taco stand.” We turn and walk away from our apartment for probably the last time.
 
We haul our stuff to the elevator, where there’s already a pile of Steve’s other crap. Normally, I take the stairs, but I’ll take the elevator just this once to help him out. But I don’t have to like it. When it arrives, rather than pick everything up, he just kind of pushes the pile into the elevator. Oh, well that works too. On the way down I can’t help but feel cramped. All of the bags don’t help the feeling. I hate elevators. Fucking deathtraps. On the ground floor, he pushes the pile back out and we move everything to the front door. From there, he guards his pile while I make a couple trips to his car to pack it all in. He joins me on the last one, we smoosh the last of it all into the trunk and pile in ourselves, him driving and me riding shotgun. We pull away from the curb and we’re on our way.
 
Only a block into our journey, and stuck at a light, I see someone hurrying down the sidewalk coming from the direction we’re going. It’s Ellen. I duck down in my seat and hope she doesn’t recognize the car. I don’t want her to see me like this. Plus, long goodbyes are always so awkward, even without the whole “turning into a cartoon” thing.
 
Steve looks at me quickly. “What’s wrong?” he asks.
 
“It’s Ellen! Don’t let her see you!” I whisper.
 
“Oh jeez!” he whispers back, then follows it with, “Wait, why are we whispering? She can’t hear us.”
 
“Shut up!”
 
He has to keep at the wheel, but he does sort of turn his head away and shield his face with his hand. When Ellen has passed us, I watch her in the mirror as she turns, ascends the stairs to the front door of our building, and goes inside.
 
I put my hand on the window. “I’m sorry, baby,” I barely whisper. The light turns green and we start moving. I lose sight of the building as we turn the corner.

 
“You say something?” Steve asks. He sees me with my hand on the glass and I quickly take it away. “You okay?” he asks. He’s got that pitiful fucking look again.
 
I sneer at him. “Yeah, I said, ‘Sorry you’re a baby’,” I spit.
 
He rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Christ,” he sighs. He glances at me quickly with a sly look. “Navigator! Lay in the course to our next adventure. Surprise me,” he quotes from our favorite show.
 
Damn him. Why’s he got to know exactly what to say to bring me out of my funk. I respond, “As you command, Captain!” Wait. Where ARE we going exactly?
 
“Hey, I thought we were going to stock up on food. We just passed our usual bodega,” I ask in confusion.
 
“Reach into the back seat and grab my computer bag,” he instructs me.
 
“You brought your laptop?” I ask in disbelief.
 
“I am NOT leaving Old Bess behind!” he declares.
 
“What good is it going to do you out in middle of nowhere?”
 
He shrugs. “I know. But I suppose it’s sort of like a security blanket. And I’m sure I’ll be able to charge it and get a signal from time to time. I looked it up. A lot of campgrounds have places with outlets and wifi now. But anyway, look in the front pouch.”
 
I reach into the pouch and pull out a stack of papers. The first few pages are maps he printed from Google and the last couple are a handwritten list: “Rope, twine, fishing line, fishing rod, hooks, sleeping bag…” it keeps going like this.
 
“There you are, Navigator: your course,” he announces.
 
I put the bag back in the back seat, then continue to inspect the papers. “What is all this?”
 
“I recognize the need to get our shopping done as soon as possible,” Steve starts, “while we can still conceal the changes. At the rate this mess is progressing, that won’t be long, so we need to get it done quickly. But, I don’t want to risk running into anyone we know, so our normal grocer was out. I checked around and found an outdoor outfitter store up in Yonkers. Camping, hiking, skiing, that sort of thing,” he continues, making a waving gesture with his hand. “And it’s right next to a Dick’s Sporting Goods and a Whole Foods. Plus, there’s a ShopRite nearby for anything else. It’s perfect. All of our needs centralized together far enough that there’s no chance of anyone knowing us but close enough that we can be done soon. So I mapped us a route th- HEY HOW ABOUT A FUCKING TURN SIGNAL, ASSHOLE!” he interrupts himself to yell at a car that cut us off.
 
He continues, “Now, you said that you thought this lake was somewhere near Albany and Saratoga Springs. So after we stock up, we’re heading there and I figured we could just drive around a little to see if anything jogged your memory. We need to minimize as many stops, as much human contact, and save as much money as we can, so we’re avoiding any toll roads,” he finishes.
 
I can see that we’re driving north already, not south, so I comment, “Yeah, but if we wanted to avoid tolls, we should have detoured south and taken the 59th Street Bridge. It’s closer to home anyway. We’re heading for the Triboro.” Sure enough, it’s coming into view.
 
“True,” is Steve’s response, “but having said all that, I figured that it was worth it to bite the bullet and stop for one toll right at the beginning to be able to avoid Manhattan and cut straight to the Bronx,” he reasons. “Do you agree?”
 
I hate to admit it, but he’s got me there. “Yeah yeah. What about this list then? What’s all this stuff?”
 
“I compiled a list of all the things I thought we might need to buy, funds permitting,” he answers.
 
“A fishing rod?”
 
“Yes,” he answers, “we don’t know how long we might have to survive out in the wilderness. We’re going to buy a lot of non-perishable food: dry goods, nuts, cereals, jerky for you, etc-“
 
I cut him off, “What, you don’t like jerky?”
 
“I’m changing into an herbivore,” he retorts. He rolls down the window. We’ve stopped at the tollbooth. I’ve got to hand it to the guy in the booth. He doesn’t even bat an eye at the freaks with the weird hair and ears. But fuck, then again it’s New York. We pay and continue on our way.
 
“You can’t eat meat anymore? Dude that suuuucks,” I sympathize with him. “Wait, but I can still eat it? Sweeeet. In yo’ face, bitch!” I poke him hard in the shoulder.
 
“Ow!” he winces, “Watch the claws there, Simba” I inspect my finger and see that my claw poked a hole right through the gloves. Yikes.
 
Steve rolls his eyes. “I’m glad you’re so sympathetic. ANYWAY! We’re going to have to ration our food, and supplementing our diet with fresh food is probably healthier too. I should be alright with berries and grass and such, but I thought you might appreciate fresh fish. Hence the rod.”
 
Fuck, I am impressed. “Jesus, dude. You really thought this all out? That’s kinda pretty amazing.”
 
“Like I told you,” he says firmly, “I didn’t just drop shit in a bag. I prepared. ‘Let’s go to some lake I only vaguely remember from 10-15 years ago’ is not a plan. THIS is a plan.” He emphasizes his last point by pointing with his index finger.
 
I hold my hands up in a fake defensive position. “Fuck, man. You made your point. Just take the damn compliment. God knows I’m not going to give you any more for being such a massive egghead nerd.”
 
“Fine. Jeez. Thanks. Whatever,” he grunts.
 
“I never knew the P in PMS stood for ‘pony’,” I taunt, “but sounds like you’ve got it bad, Princess Larry.” I know he hates that name.
 
To his credit, he keeps his eyes on the road, but I can see Steve narrow them and his brow furrow.  He doesn’t say anything. He just lets out a long, slow, strangled sound, like a breath from deep in his throat one step away from a growl.
 
By now we’re only beginning to make our way through the Bronx. I look over at Steve. He’s mad at me. I check the clock. 6:10. Fuck, this is going to be a loooong trip.
 

 
We made it to Yonkers uneventfully and found that the place we were going was one of those upscale outdoor shopping mall dealies. It’s all cobblestone paths with wrought iron street lights, and a ridiculous amount of fountains.
 
We got our grocery shopping out of the way easily enough. Steve was still a little unsteady on his feet, errr, hooves, and he was having an even worse time with shoes than I was, so he pushed the cart around to steady himself while I grabbed food. He didn’t talk to me the whole time. He just nodded or shook his head when I picked something. I can’t imagine why he’s so pissed. Wooks wike Chubby’s gwumpy.
 
I don’t think I’d ever seen so much trail mix before. Pretty much all we bought was dry granolas and cereals and grains and shit, dehydrated fruit, dried meat for me, and just for variety, canned vegetable soup. And of course, a few cases of bottled water. It ought to be enough for weeks. Let’s hope this mess doesn’t take that long.
 
We deposited our overflowing cart into the backseat of the shitty powder blue Passat and made our way to the outdoor supply store. Now that we’re inside, I’m starting to regret it. The place is pretty upscale. Definitely pricier than we need. We can get anything they have here at the Dick’s for half the price. But that’s not the real problem. I guess they thought we looked like shoplifters because they made us put out hoods down and now people are staring. At least it was just the hood and not the whole jacket. I can feel something on my back starting to twitch and some muscles I don’t recognize spasming occasionally. Hiding a tail down my pant leg is hard enough, but there’s no way this big whatever that’s growing back there would stay hidden in just my t-shirt.
 
We’re looking at a set of pre-packed camping gear for Steve when some douchey looking guy walks up to us. I mean, I guess he’s pretty good looking, if I swung that way. Decently muscular, blond hair, handsome face, I guess. Most girls would be all over him. But I can tell just from his hairstyle, his shades, and the way he’s holding himself, he’s a real “bro” if I ever saw one. He’s just wearing a tight pink t-shirt, but I’m sure that if he had a collar, it would be popped.
 
“Hey, ladies. You need help finding something?” oozes out of his mouth. Steve looks like he’s in shock. Oh right, this guy said ‘ladies’.
 
I try to defuse the situation. “No, we’re cool. Thanks though,” I say coolly and turn away from him.
 
He’s not taking ‘No’ for an answer. I hear laughing nearby and someone whisper, “Come on, bro!” Ha, I called it. He edges closer and says, “It’s just you girls look like you’re lost. This isn’t Comic Con. But you also look like you like to party. If you’re looking to spend some time outdoors, me and some friends are gonna go out to my dad’s beach house. Maybe you wanna come with us… have some drinks? I never been with one of you furries before. ” At the end there, he’s almost touching us. I can smell booze on him. Fucking frat boys.
 
Steve’s looking really confused and nervous. A couple people near us are whispering and I can see this asshat’s friends watching us around the corner of a display. I think it’s about time we made our exit. Still, we should try to keep a low profile. “Yeaaah. That sounds like a lot of fun, ‘bro’,” I tell him through gritted teeth, “but we gotta get going now. Isn’t that right, um, ‘Stephanie’?” I start to shepherd Steve away toward the exit.
 
“Come on, baby, don’t be a bitch,” the guy barks at me, all friendliness gone from his voice. He grabs Steve’s wrist. “Let her answer for herself. I bet she’s just playing shy. What do you s-”
 
All right, enough’s enough. Fuck low profile. Before the asshole even knows what’s happening, almost even before I know it, I’ve got my left fist up in a defensive position and my right fist in his face. I feel a satisfying crunch as the world famous Griffin Jab connects with his nose. Hoosac boxing club champion, three straight years, yo.
 
I don’t stay long enough to survey the damage. I grab Steve’s arm and drag him toward the exit, out the door, and away from the store. She’s- He’s struggling to keep up with me, and people are staring at the two freaks running around making a scene, but I don’t stop until we’re inside Dick’s. I pull my hood back up and Steve follows suit. I bring him a cart to push around then walk alongside it, trying to look casual. Nope, no assault here.
 
We go around doing our shopping, this time not bothered by anyone. Steve still hasn’t said anything, but this time, I think it’s from being in shock instead of being mad. I’m just going down the list and throwing stuff in the cart as he pushes it along beside me in a daze. I’m starting to get worried.
 
I lean in close to him and whisper, “Hey, you alright? You’re kinda freaking me out, dude.”
 
He stops, turns his head slightly to glance at me out of the corner of his eye, then casts his eyes downward. “He… he thought I was a girl,” he whispers finally.
 
I let out a long breath. “Yeah. I know he did. I hate to have to tell you, but you’re really starting to look like one.” I drape my arm around his shoulder.
 
Steve hangs his head in defeat. “He made a pass at me and I didn’t even feel- Normally, I’d-,” he stammers, “Nevermind.”
 
I quirk an eyebrow. “Um, okay. I don’t know if this’ll make you feel better or worse, but you’re actually starting to turn into a pretty cute girl.”
 
He gives me a wry expression. “Until I turn into a pony.”
 
“Um, right. Until you turn into a pony,” I echo. I take my arm off his shoulder and slap him on the back. “But hey, buck up! Remember: WWAD, bud!” I quietly cheer.
 
He blinks. “You’re right.”
 
“I’m always right,” I remind him, “Now come on, let’s finish this and get out of here.”
 
He starts pushing the cart again and I fall into step beside him. I lean in close to him again and quietly tell him, “And hey, if it makes you feel better, I think I’m in the same situation you are. This ‘Gilda’ isn’t a guy, is it? You sure?”
 
He shoots me a ‘What the hell are you talking about’ look. “Positive,” he says, “What are you on about? You’re not growing a, um, you know, are you?”
 
“Not yet,” I admit, “but I noticed something earlier. They were never that big to start with, but my boobs are kinda going away.”
 
“Oh. I never noticed,” he says distractedly as he picks a sleeping bag and puts it in the cart. “I’m sorry?”
 
“Eh, don’t worry about it. To be honest, they were just dead weight. I prefer other girls’ anyway.” I lean in again, closer this time, and whisper, “The real weird thing is my cooch is gone too. It almost looks like the front door kinda moved and joined up with the back door.”
 
“WHAT?!” Steve screams and crashes the cart into a display of fishing gear, spilling rods and hooks and stuff across the floor. I’m so startled by his reaction that I feel the thing on my back jerk and strain against my clothes. A middle-aged man, bald but with a big bushy mustache, looks over at us. He shakes his head and mutters to himself.
 
“Shhhhut up!” I warn with a finger to my mouth. I quickly throw a rod and a box of tackle in the cart and push it into a nearby aisle with Steve following behind. When we’re secluded, I turn to him, “The hell’s the matter with you?”
 
“With me? What’s wrong with you?” he chokes, “Your… ahem seriously merged with your…?”
 
“Uh, I think so.”
 
“You… you have a… uggghh cloaca?” he says that last word like it’s the foulest thing on the planet. “EWWWWWWWW!” He scrunches his face up, shakes his head, and waves his arms around like a little girl seeing a big hairy spider.
 
“A what?” I reach to put my hand on his arm to calm him down, but he just pulls away in disgust.
 
“You know how mammals have two exit ports?” he starts to explain, “Well birds and reptiles only have one. It’s called the cloaca and everything comes out that one hole. It’s one of the most disgusting concepts in all of nature. It’s why I don’t eat eggs,” Steve shudders.
 
“You eat stuff made with eggs. I’ve seen you,” I accuse.
 
“Yes, but I try not to think about it. Now come on, I think that’s everything. Let’s pay for this and get going,” he urges. He pushes the cart to the front of the store. We pay for our purchases while the checkout girl looks at us funny. I can tell she wants to ask us what our deal is, but she holds her tongue.
 
We bring our new gear out to the car and squeeze most of it into the trunk. It doesn’t all fit, so we put some of it in the back seat with the food. For one, we got a nice sized camping cooler which I put some of the bottled water in. Well that takes care of that; all the preparations are done.
 
We get into the car ourselves and start it up. It’s about nine o’clock and time to start out on the rest of our journey. We drive away from the shopping complex and probably our last taste of civilization for a long time.