Droubble: Wrong Turn

Wrong Turn

“We should be turning on to Virginia any minute now, then I’ll know where we are.”

“We’re lost, okay? Just stop and ask for directions.”

“You’re the one who’s so sure we’re lost, you ask.”

“I will. Stop here, I’ll ask him.” She indicated a man in a plum-colored suit.

“Fine, knock yourself out.” He pulled over to the curb.

“Sir, I’m afraid we’re lost. Could you tell me where this is?”

“Who said that?”

“Down here.”

“A, a talking dog?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Oh, of course. Y, you say you’re lost?”

“Yes.”

“Well, this here is the conservatory, then past that is the billiard room.”

“Could you tell my friend how to get to Virginia Avenue?”

“Your friend?”

“Over there.”

“I see an automobile...”

“Yes, him.”

He let out a choked laugh. “A talking dog, out for a stroll with her friend the automobile, looking for an imaginary street. I must lay off the opium.” At this the man in purple walked briskly away.

She walked back to the car. “I don’t recognize anything here. It’s all wrong.”

“It’ll be fine.”

“If thimble were here, he’d know–”

The car glared. “I told you never to say that name.”