*sigh*

Another long day of travelling, riding with men who smelled like a combination of must and need, giving them the aura of cheese. Not even good cheese. Limburgher or Bleu or some other mold-encrusted thing.

*shiver*

Why does Canada have to be so goddamn cold this time of year...don't they realize that the -rest- of the civilized world have -a sun-?

"And if I am groped even one more time by some child-molesting-no-life-having- drive-the-countryside-out-of-the-goodness-of-my-blackened-heart-save-the- world-pedophile-motherfucker, I'm going to go ballistic."

She didn't know she'd said it out loud until one of her two remaining companions looked at her like she was nuts.

It wasn't the first time.

She copped a squat near a fencepost, signalling wordlessly to the other two that it was time to try and sleep. Out of the omnipresent leather satchel she withdrew a book. Her book. Her chronicle of her hunt.

The hunt for Harvey Pallas.

"Dear Diary," she wrote, "I've sent the first letter to him."

She paused, then went back to dot the "i" with a heart.

"After that bitch in LA was so uncooperative, I figured her replacement would be better. For her sake, I hope it is."

She slid a photo, glossy on one side and matte on the other, out from between the pages, and set it on the opposing page. Inspiration, she thinks.

"We've got a good five-day-travel time yet, provided none of those little incidents happen again. It woulda been faster if we coulda stayed on the US side, but that guy and his wife were just too gross. Don't it show on my face? I'm saving myself for my One True Love."

The body of her travelling companion, limp with sleep, knocked her hand out of whack. The picture flew toward the weedy ground, only to be snapped out of the air by a bubble-gum-pink-nailed hand.

That same hand then backslaps her companion. Nobody dared to breathe for a minute, just in case he should decide to be stupid and slap her back.

He doesn't. She continues.

"...That IDIOT just knocked his picture almost on the ground. Moron. I should have travelled alone. He's going to want to see me when I get there, anyway."

*sigh*

"After all, I -am- the president of his fan club. That should be worth -something-, shouldn't it?"

A car's headlights swung into view, and before they could say "REVENGE OF THE F.R.E.A.K.S.", she was on her way to flag it down.

It was about time they got a good ride.