With no friends and family to spend the day with, I took off on a long drive down Desolation Highway, away from the airwaves of gratitude and towards the middle of nowhere.
After entering the city limits of my isolation, I saw a small group of people ahead lined up alongside the road while holding trays of food. I slowed down in anticipation of something happening to turn my Thanksgiving around. And it did. As I drove past, the people began throwing food at my car. A cooked turkey bounced off my hood while chestnut stuffing was splattered all over my windshield. Cranberry sauce was scattered along the side of my car and my rear window was bombarded with sweet potatoes. Then one man walked up to me and motioned for me to open my window. When I did, he smashed a pumpkin pie in my face.
Then I drove on for a few minutes until I found a quiet place to pull over to dine on the food fragments picked from my car and the pumpkin pie from my face. My Thanksgiving was now complete.
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