Last night my buddies and I went on a Denny's run. For those of you who are unaware of what this is (which I believe is most of you) it's a college ritual in which a group of students, between the hours of 12 and 4 am, cram themselves into a confined moving space for approximately 45 minutes to an hour only to emerge from said space in front of another confined space (though this one is about ten times bigger than the first, and doesn't move) where they will stuff their faces until Zack, Bobby-John, Callie, or Cheeto scream out in protest. They will then use paper or plastic to show their appreciation to the establishment's minions for said experience, return to the moving space for yet another 45 to 60 minutes only to return to their apartments and collapse onto the bed, exhaustion from the previous day and the event of stuffing their faces finally taking hold. AKA we drive to the nearest Denny's and enjoy a meal.
The drive to Denny's was quiet and ultimately uneventful. Well, save for the close shave we had with a car while turning into Maverick. Talk about having your life flash before your eyes! Many thanks go out to Kayla for that one. And the driver of the other car.
The bulk of the drive home was uneventful as well. Until we hit the edge of a neighboring town. By this point we were pretty much sick of the car, and ready to be home in our beds. As the car puffed along down the highway we were suddenly met with a clear substance that splatter itself across the windshield. Any unimaginative person would simply say, "It was the sprinklers from the cemetery; they shoot really far!" But no, it wasn't the sprinklers. It was Casper, that friendly ghost, out trying to spread some late night love and Kayla just ran him down with her car like he was a nobody. Rude, I know, not to mention she didn't even bother to give the poor ghost a moment of silence. She just turned on the windshield wipers, cleaned of the windshield, and kept on driving. Some people's children...
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