Transition (emo junkin')

I suppose I should attend to the nature of me and Squanch's relationship, since it hasn't been written about in great detail. That's mostly because there were no real details - our relationship thus far had consisted of infatuation (or, my libido's inability to differentiate reasonable people from idiots,) shitty sex, silence, brief mumbled conversations shared between two excessively anxious individuals, a shitload of irritating questions and the mind boggling irritation of Squanch's indecisiveness. It's one thing for a person to wonder aloud how a new town will treat them, quite another for them to expect you to know everything about the place. I'd never been to Quebec either, Squanch. How the fuck am I supposed to know where there's food? Probably at a food store. Why would I know where the liquor store is? How the hell am I supposed to know how much a French bus costs? Why the fuck would I suddenly be able to translate French signs for you?!

Four hours of this daft ignorance, coupled an inability to converse about anything except recycled snippets of conversations we'd had last week, left me seething.

That's not to say we hadn't had a couple laughs, but they had been far and few in between.

The armament's loaded, the opposition's forces have arrived

bazookas are loaded with ignorance; rocket propelled stupidity cracks my barricades.

My tiny soldiers armed with anger cock their guns and start to fire back.

Since I'd managed to hold my tongue for so long, she still held regarded me with loving eyes, but I'd recently begun to lash out at her. Patience always runs thin when you're stuck alone with someone, and one of the things the road (more specifically, Squanch) taught me is that I'm not nearly as patient as I thought I was.

ANYWAY - after the pleasantries of the ferry ride, we were dropped on the other side of the river and began the during hike up a 45 degree slope that mocked us every step of the hour-long journey to the highway. We were rekindled with a lifelong acquaintance of any traveler - swass. Our lubricated buttcheeks slid against each other, creating a chasm of apocalyptic friction that left our bums quite chafed. we trudged up the mountain towards the highway, too exhausted to question the houses that were built at seemingly impossible angles. Finally we found our salvation - an off ramp that led to the highway. Our hiatus came to an end; we were on the Trans-Canada again.