We were graciously afforded the Lincoln Sabre (I’ll never forget the model) to head into ‘town’ to kill some time. What that means, in fact, is that it was still light out, maybe mid afternoon, and we were allowed to drive into Galena to “check out the shops”. That, to us at the time, meant laugh at the locals and putz around, talking about pressing highschool social matters for a few hours before returning home for dinner on the grill next to the lake. We were in highschool and we were needing to escape, and we all felt alive as we headed into town.
Yet here I was, hopping in a cab because my ride couldn’t outwait an overly inquisitive border patrol, skimming through a city I knew almost nothing about aside from the facts purged from a visitor’s guide I’d received from my adorable mother when plans began to formalize around my move.
