~ Trans Fats and Tetanus ~
The gravel crunched in a chaotic symphony as the silver Subaru Forester, a cherry-red Mini Cooper, and a beat-up Ford F-150 descended upon a dilapidated gas station like a fabulous invading army. The sign above the single rusty pump promised “Live Bait & Fishing Supplies,” though it looked like it hadn’t seen a live customer since the Reagan administration.
Blaine stepped out of the Subaru, adjusting his perfectly tailored sunglasses, while Marco unfolded his massive, muscle-bound frame from the passenger seat, already scanning the permineter with stoic precision.
“I told you the GPS was having a breakdown,” TJ yelled, tumbling out of the F-150 in a tangle of charging cables. “The magnetic interference out here is off the charts. I’m telling you, it’s the government!”
“Oh, hush, Mulder,” Elton declared, sliding out of the truck in a violently bright pink flamingo-patterned shirt. “The only tragedy here is the absolute lack of a welcoming committee; where’s the fanfare?”
Right on cue, Victor and Carlos emerged from the Mini Cooper, a vision impeccably styled in matching lavender linen suits that instantly made the rustic backdrop look offensively drab.
“Darrrrrling, the only fanfare this place offers is tetanus,” Victor noted, delicately sidestepping a dubious puddle. “But since we are trapped in the middle of nowhere, we might as well see if they sell anything remotely resembling a sparkling beverage.”
“Leave the provisions to me!” Carlos announced, adjusting an invisible lapel, “The culinary maestro will source us the finest jerky this wasteland has to offer.”
The six men descended upon the gas station, their combined energy threatening to blow the roof off the sagging building. Inside, the air hung thick with stale coffee and bleach. Behind the counter stood a young woman with hair the exact electric blue of a blue raspberry slushie. She didn’t look up from her phone as the parade of couture and camp squeezed into the tiny aisles.
Victor approached the counter, flashing a smile as bright as the pride flag fluttering from the back of Carlos’s Mini Cooper, “Hellooooooooo, gorgeous! Just filling up the tanks and clearing out your snack aisle for a legendary weekend. We’re the Silver Foxes.”
Jennifer slowly blinked, finally tearing her eyes away from the screen. She surveyed the matching lavender suits, the flamingo shirt, and Marco’s towering presence. Her expression remained completely flat and unbothered.
“It’s dangerous to go alone,” Jennifer said in a deadpan monotone. “Take these,” she said, sliding a dusty two-pack of generic powdered donuts across the counter.
Carlos gasped, offended, “Trans fats? In this outfit? I think not, darling.”
“Suit yourself,” Jennifer replied, popping a bubble of blue gum, “The sky is getting loud anyway. The lights have been screaming for months.”
“Screaming?” TJ perked up, practically vibrating with excitement and bombarding Jennifer with questions: “Are you talking about the auroras? Electromagnetic anomalies? Have you seen the dimensional tears?!”
“I just work here,” she said, her voice entirely devoid of any inflection, “But the last time a group of brightly colored men came through looking for a good time, they bought all the Funyuns and walked straight into a parallel existence, or maybe they just went to Sheboygan. Either way, they didn’t come back.”
Just then, Elton let out a theatrical gasp, clutching on his string of pearls, “A parallel existence? How Chic! Do they have better lighting?”
“Just a lot of red dirt and scary things with teeth,” Jennifer replied, returning her gaze to the register, “That’ll be forty-two fifty for the gas, and the donuts are on the house. You’re going to need the carbs for the screaming void.”
Blaine chuckled, sliding his platinum card across the counter. “Well, aren’t you a delight. We’ll take our chances with the ‘void,’ sweetheart. Marco, grab the cooler; we have a disco to start.”
Jennifer ran the card with a slow, deliberate movement of someone who has seen eternity and was thoroughly bored by it. “Have fun at the cabin,” she droned, “if the sky turns upside down, don’t forget to hydrate.”
Armed with a full tank, a trunk full of questionable snacks, and a highly suspicious warning, the Silver Foxes piled back into their designated vehicles and sped off.
The dense Wisconsin forest presses in around them as they pull back onto the winding country road. The sun dipped lower, setting the stage for an evening none of them would ever forget.
To be continued…Will the foxes survive the screaming sky? Will Carlos be forced to cook with canned beans? Oh, the horror! Check back later this week for Chapter Two: ‘Soufflés and Solar Flares,’ because this weekend getaway is about to go completely off the itinerary.
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