GPS

GPS says, “How about we take the next… left?”

“Is it supposed to talk like that?” she asks.

We laugh. “I don’t think so.”

GPS says, “Yeah… yeah, let’s take the next left.”

“It sounds pretty unsure of itself.” 

The diner we are searching for is below us. Underneath the overpass, on the right. 

“Hey! There it is!” she shouts from the passenger seat.

We are approaching an exit.

GPS says, “Just keep going. Don’t take that exit.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” I almost yell at the GPS.

I miss the exit.

GPS says, “Stay on current road for a long time.”

She rolls down her window, looks back to where the diner is. “This is insane. It obviously has no idea where we are.”

The diner erupts into a ball of fire and black smoke. The heat of the explosion masks her face. She screams, and pulls her head back into the car. 

“Oh my god!” she wails. “Did you see that?!”

“I felt it!” I answer. “What was that?!”

“The diner just exploded!” She is crying. “Oh my god. Oh my god.” 

GPS says, “Continue on current road for two point two miles.”

I look at the navigation system. 

GPS says, “In two miles, take exit thirty-five, and let’s go home.”

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