War Stories: Press Checks Across America

I roar past the blocked exit, the next exit can’t be far, the last lights of the tiny town vanish behind, the freeway turns sharply right, right again, now sharply left, where’s north, I’m confused, WHERE’S THE NEXT EXIT? Fourteen minutes have passed.

At last there’s the exit, I take it, immediately make a sharp right, then left, now right, right again: No more stop lights, no more freeway either, a sudden T in the road. I’m totally lost. I stop at a convenience store, the clerk has never heard of a printing plant in this area; 18 minutes have passed. I stop at a hotel, the night clerk hasn’t heard of the plant either, but directs me vaguely to the right; 22 minutes have passed.