Ballad of the Lonely Argonauts

How does it feel
to roam this land like Hart and Twain did?
How, how, how does it feel?
A thousand miles closer to hell
Here I sit in Boulder contemplating my meager bag of dried fruit and nuts, wondering if I can ration it out till Saturday along with the 12 pack of cokes I got at the arco station a mile up the road…
“Is there some reason you would need a car?” The words seemed so innocuous. I decided not to push it. After all, Boulder is only a $46 shuttle ride from the Denver Airport, what could go wrong? We still got to the hotel by 8:30, and decided to head out and look for food. There’s nothing but trees around here, and I don’t see any buildings, so we head towards traffic lights. “We’re going to starve to death”, Robert said at one point. I agreed. I caught a tiny frog and had a Bear Grylls moment, only I couldn’t hold on to the little thing and it liberated itself among the roadside weeds. “I think it peed on me”, I said, Robert’s words echoing in my head. “We’re gong to starve to death.”
We return to the hotel and catch the young receptionists as they were hastily closing up for the night. We’re hungry and have not eaten since lunch. “Can we help you?” But their eyes dart towards the door and the cool, cool evening, with the promise of Absinthe and young men’s gazes. “Is there any food?” The brunette’s face blanched, “Not within walking distance!”, but her blonde companion pulled at a sliver of memory. “Maybe the deli?” “Yes!” the brunette blushed, “But it is almost nine.” The blonde tugged at her nose wistfully, “Maybe they’re open til half past?” she suggested imaginatively. “No never, half past”, said her friend. “But maybe there’s something 5 blocks further? A taco bell?”
They burst into a flurry of closing activity, the conversation come to an end, and I look at Robert. “We must find sustenance, but I fear the worst.” “Yes, the worst”, answered Robert, “Still…” and we headed out into the night…