After my divorce, I took a spontaneous road trip with my 1-year-old son, Noah, hoping to clear my mind. Our adventure took a bizarre turn when the GPS led us down a desolate road, eventually landing us in a strange town where every roof was painted green.
Desperate to feed Noah, I found an old diner in the eerily quiet town. As I entered, three pairs of eyes fixed on me: two men and an elderly lady. “Leave your phone in the car, and then your son can eat here,” one of the men said. Despite the unsettling request, I complied but kept my phone with me.
The men, Bill and Frank, explained their town’s aversion to technology: “No internet, no phones. People here like to keep it that way.” They told me about a previous visitor who didn’t follow their rules and never returned. The tension grew as I listened, my mind racing with escape plans.
Finally, the elderly lady handed me the food, and I hurried back to the car. As I strapped Noah in, she rushed out to give me cutlery. I thanked her and drove off, the green roofs fading in my rearview mirror. Once back on the highway, I called my friend Claire and recounted the eerie experience. “Promise me you won’t take any more strange detours,” she said. “Promise,” I replied, grateful to be back on familiar roads.
Noah’s laughter filled the car, and I knew we’d be okay. What would you have done in my place?
