You are now entering...the Friendship Zone

So there I am: driving down a not-so-dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair... you know the drill. The car I'm driving is, in retrospect, quite appropriate: a beige Buick. One hundred percent neutral. Completely inoffensive, on all counts. The only way it could be more so is if it was electric. Sadly, as I am reminded by the arrow precariously hovering above the letter 'E' on the fuel gauge, it is not.

The horizon is bare, save for a small triangle, seemingly floating in mid-air. The triangle gradually grows larger as I approach, and I eventually realise that it's a road sign. A dusty, dented metal sign which, in faded black letters, reads "Friendship Zone- One Mile". Seeing no other option, I continue in this direction.

A little further on, the road slopes downward into a natural basin in the desert. Within this area, is a small township- several rows of houses, surrounding a cluster of shops. Fortunately, there's enough juice in the engine to get me down to the main street.

I stop at the first house I come to, to ask for directions to the town petrol station. Sitting on the porch is an old timer in a rocking chair. I start to speak to him, and he cackles like some old, crazed gold prospector. His beard and remaining hair are both faintly yellow, and his precious few teeth look out of place, like uninvited guests at a gum party. I eventually ascertain from him that the petrol station is two blocks down and one over. I ask him how long he's been in the Friendship Zone, and he cackles again, quite manically.

'Fifty seven years,' he says, eventually. 'But it's only until Dorothy comes to her senses.' I ask him who Dorothy is, and he informs me she was a girl he had a crush on back in high school. Christ.

I just about make it to the petrol station, coasting on fumes. En route, I take in quite a lot of the town. The houses are all wooden and quite rudimentary, and the people on the street look at me with an air of suppressed curiousity. It's as if they want to be friendly, but are scared of overdoing it. Regardless of the pervading feeling of trepidation, there is a true vibe of community in the air.

The garage itself is a modest affair: two pumps and a paint-peeled convenience store. The door opens with a faint jingle and the man behind the counter looks up. He greets me and accompanies me outside.

'I'll need to fill the tanks fully,' I explain as we walk over to the car.

'Fill the tanks?' he asks, almost incredulously. 'Sorry stranger, pumps are dry. Fuel truck shoulda been through here 'bout two weeks ago.'

'Two weeks? You mean you haven't told them that you're low on fuel?' I can't believe this.

'Well,' he replies with a shrug. 'I didn't want to be pushy. Folk in this here town, we aint too pushy in general. '

'Okay,' I sigh, pinching my brow in frustration. 'Is there any other way I can leave town?'

He takes off his cap and scratches the back of his sun-scorched neck, head bowed deep in thought.

'Hmmm...well, you could always catch a train from Drunken-shag junction,' he says. 'But the timetable's plenty unreliable. Plus the tracks are pretty bumpy, and the train's been known to break down from time to time.'

'Christ, I don't fancy my chances leaving that way then. Anything else?'

'We-eell, I s'pose....you could always hitch a ride over by the Clock Tower. Over yonder.'

'The Clock Tower?' I ask, following his gesture to a building in the near distance, looming over all the others in town. The structure is reminiscient of a church spire, but with a large white clock-face at the top.

'Yep, that there's the Biological Clock Tower; some guys manage to hitch a ride outta the Friendship Zone that way, by car. I warns ya though, it can get pretty crowd. And it's one heck of a loooooong journey.'

I slump back against the, now defunct, car. 'So those are my only options? Does anyone ever actually leave this town?'

'Not much,' the garage attendant replies. 'Truth is, we're all pretty comfortable here. True, the weather aint always great- sometimes it can rain pretty darn heavy- but heck, we're all pretty content in general.' He replaces the cap on his head. 'You really want my advice, you'll go and get yourself a room at The Unrequited Motel. Rates are reasonable from what I hear; in fact, most folk tend to stay quite a while.'

Just when I'm considering his words, I hear the rumble of a large vehicle from the road. Suddenly, a large bus hurtles by.

'Hey, what the hell is that?' I ask.

'Oh, that? That there's the bus outta town.'

'What? There's a bus? Outta town??'

'Yep. Pretty regular too. Goes on to the next town, name of Acceptanceville. You can get a ticket down at the depot. But they only sell singles. Non-refundable, one-way tickets only. And most folk in this town, they aint exactly prone to movin' on for good.'

'But...why didn't you tell me?'

'About the bus? Heck, I figured you'd be fixing on stayin' a while in the Friendship Zone.'

In a strange way, he had a point. There was something welcoming about the town. But something about it too suggested that, behind all the community feeling, lurked a hidden loneliness. I pushed these thoughts to one side.

'When's the next bus?'

'Aint too sure, but they generally come along regular enough. Long as you got your ticket.'

I ask him for directions to the depot, and race off down the road.

'What about your car?' he shouts after me.

'Leave it,' I call over my shoulder. 'It's not worth it!'

Ten minutes jog later, I arrive at the depot; I buy my ticket just as the next bus pulls in.

'You come back now y'hear,' calls the girl in the ticket booth cheerily as I pant over to the bus. Not bloody likely, I think, clambering aboard.

The bus starts with a shudder and a growl, as I find a seat near the back. I get comfy, put an arm across the back of my seat and look out through the back window. The bus lurches forward and, as momentum is gathered, I watch a cloud of dust slowly build in its wake.

And ever so slowly, like the fading of a bad memory, the Friendship Zone disappears from my vision forever.

Next stop: Acceptanceville.