“Aust, where are
we even going?” I ask as Lockport
whizzes by us.
“Away. Anywhere,”
Austin offers as an answer. I put
my cig out in the make-shift ashtray we made last summer (an old Tim Horton’s
coffee cup in the left cup holder of his truck) and light up another one.
“Let’s go to
Vic’s,” Charlie suggests, flicking the ashes of his cigarette out the
window. I nod in agreement. Vic always has bud at his place, nothing to
disagree with there. Austin speeds
through a red light near the produce market (he’s honestly the most reckless
driver in the universe. I don’t know how
he hasn't managed to get a ticket,) which means we’re out of Lockport. Out of one town and into the outskirts of
another.
“We should go
out west, get out of that piss hole.”
Austin is always talking about how much he hates Lockport. How it’s an old washed up town, full of liars
and people who don’t give a fuck about anything. He’s always dreaming up these big plans of leaving, going somewhere warm, making something of his life. I've tried to tell him that Lockport’s not as
bad as he says it is, how its got a certain charm, but he won’t hear any of it. Austin can’t wait to get out of Lockport and
never come back. That’s what everyone
says though, isn’t it? How they’ll leave their
hometown, say they’ve got nothing to hold them down to it anyway, and never
come back home. But it feels like
everyone ends up staying. You always see
the same people getting coffee at the same diner downtown. The same teenagers are always loitering in
the same parking lots. To me, Lockport
is one of those towns that everyone claims to hate, but never seem to leave.
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