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[TRANSCRIPT]

[click, static] Breaker, breaker, this is Whiskey driving West on a beautiful day. 

Still in Ohio. The Buckeye State. I’m thinking of heading South actually–the last time I was in the Midwest was…god, probably sixty? Sixty-one. I just remember a lot of flat. I haven’t hit that yet, but knowing it’s coming…yeah, anyway, I’ve been thinking about heading south. Cutting back over into…(rustling of paper), 77? And going down to West Virginia. I blew right past Akron without seeing a single sign of life, so I’m thinking maybe the big cities are out. 

[click, static]

Jesus, not that Akron, Ohio is a big city. Maybe I should’ve gone up to Cleveland, I don’t know. I guess I’m still a little skittish of anywhere that might have–

[click, static] 

(sighing) Anyway, West Virginia seems like a place worth checking out. Harry mentioned this doomsday cult she’d heard about down there–granted, that was back in ‘66 or something that she heard those rumors but…what else do I have to go on, huh?

Man, if she could see me right now, she’d laugh and tell me ‘told you so’. Not even a week into this and I’m already going looking for a weird survivalist cult. Bet she’d love to have me go slinking back with my tail between my legs, giving up on any hope that there’s something worth looking for in this godforsaken country. 

But she’s not gonna get the satisfaction. I’m not going back, not for anything. It was safe, sure, but at what cost? Human beings aren’t meant to live in a cage, even ones of their own making. I mean it’s just—

[click, static]

Well, even a bunch of nuclear war freakouts would be better than being alone. 

I’ve been alone for so long now. 

[click, static] 

Harry would take issue with that, I think. Try to logic me into some kind of admission that because I wasn’t actually alone, I couldn’t claim being lonely. And maybe I wouldn’t’ve been if every conversation with her wasn’t exactly like that, where she would–

[click, static] 

(deep breath) I’m not gonna talk about her. I’m not even gonna think about her. I’ve spent the past six years doing nothing but–

[click, static]

If I’m gonna head south I should probably figure out where the hell I can get on I-77. I’m working off a Rand McNally from 1963, but it’s not like they’ve done any public works since ‘68 so I’m counting on it being somewhat reliable. But if you hear this and have a hot tip on the best route to take…

This is Whiskey, signing off.