Our first stop is at a little quiet town called New Toadsville. New Toadsville is almost just another ghost town littered across the huge expansion of abandoned mines that someone copied and pasted and pasted and pasted on this part of the continent.
Imagine all these towns near mountains where crystals and gold are found. Imagine all the families moving in, settling down, getting rich. And then moving on, abandoning their houses, their memories, their old-fashioned dreams.
After all that, all you have is some barren, dilapidated houses with overgrown lawns. Piranha plants begin to sprout, soaking up the roots and killing anything that gets near. Lantern ghosts and boos and ceiling ghosts begin to appear. Some say they're the family members that didn't want to leave but had to anyway, so they come back after they die.
New Toadsville isn't one of these towns, but it comes close. Here in New Toadsville, the population is high enough for the paper boy to swing by every day and lob fresh batches of newspapers at cobwebs gathering at the door. Mail carriers still come by with their bags of letters and packages to drop telephone directories at the wooden planks they used to call porches. Otherwise, the only inhabitants of New Toadsville are old women, young runaway couples looking for a quiet spot and tumbleweeds.
Cassie slams the flat part of her stiletto onto the brake of the cart, making a screeching halt. She pats her skirt and hops out of the cart and twirls around.
"You stay here and watch the cart," she says. "I'm going to look for gasoline. I won't be long."
Cassie and her overdeveloped calves and her stiletto heels stomp over to a gas station. The smell of shroomcake with a coating of caramel chocolate fills the air and next thing I know, Cassie tosses a garbage bag and a heavy white book onto my lap. She revs up the engine.
"Stole some stuff from some of the abandoned houses. I figured it'd be nice to have some change of clothing every now and then." She pulls out a red sweater and puts it up to her chest.
Batting the mascara on her eyes together, Cassie winks and blows me a flirty kiss. "Like it?"
Now we're back on the turnpike and Cassie nearly hits a tumbleweed. She should be watching the road, but instead, she's watching me stare at the book on my lap.
"Careful with that," she says. "That's a telephone directory."
Her mouth aimed right at me, Cassie says, "We're going to need that."