A few of us were living here, but it was kind of different. The house was set up differently, not sure how exactly, just that the whole thing felt, different. But it was here. The neighbor across from us came over from time to time and was doing something with the windows. At one point dad and I left. I forget where we were heading, but we ended up in Canada. He was driving. We were mostly on the highway, but then we came to a railroad track. The van in front of us was stopped and dad managed to stop in time, but the guy behind us didn’t. He hit us and then we hit the van; the van rolled up the track and then rolled back and hit us again. We got out and the damage wasn’t that bad, but for some reason we left it there and started walking to find a hotel. I thought it was really cool that we were getting to spend time in Canada, but then I realized we didn’t have any spare clothes or cigarettes or anything.
We passed a run down looking motel. It was made of that corrugated metal and the rooms were really tiny. Beyond that we found another place that seemed alright. The furniture was made of rolled up paper, though, and when dad went to lay on the bed it fell out from under him. Apparently the place hadn’t been kept up properly. We stayed anyway and spent some time talking to the other people who were there. I tried to text somebody but then this guy came up and started talking to me. He was from England and had a really thick accent and talked really fast and I couldn’t quite understand him.
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