The Commute.

“Earl, what are you doing? You just passed our exit! We’re going to work, remember?”
“But we’re not going to work.”
“We’re NOT? Where are we going?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know? Turn the car around NOW!”
“I can’t.”
“Because we’re going to Boston.”
Nearby in an office building overlooking the interstate sat a bored accountant, staring out the window and transmitting evil telepathic thoughts for his own twisted amusement.

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