Road to Desire
Danielle
I stared down at my dashboard console and willed the check engine light to stop the infernal red glow. How I got where I was, I had no freaking clue, which meant I had no freaking clue how to find the freeway entrance to get home. “You are an idiot, Dani,” I whispered out loud.
As if on a mission from the devil, my nineteen ninety-nine Honda shuddered, then back-fired, slowing to a crawl as I inched forward down a non-descript side street. Why Portland didn’t have better signage was beyond me.