“What the heck is happening?” I ask.
So we stop at a gas station because gas attendants always seem to know where everything is. But, unlike in Jersey, there are no gas attendants in Cleveland because you pump your own gas. But there’s a woman standing outside her car so we ask her where the nearest liquor store is. And she tells us, “There’s one on 125th and Union.”
Again with this mysterious liquor store from the Twilight Zone that doesn’t exist.
“It’s 3 lights down on your right.”
“What’s it called?” I ask. She doesn’t know and goes back to her friend in the car to find out. With all the trouble we’ve gone through to find this place, I’m expecting some epic name like, “Through Hell and Highwater Liquor” or “Blood from the Devil’s Veins” or something.
But instead, she comes back and tells us, “It’s called the Liquor Store.”
“The what?” I ask.
“The Liquor Store.”
“That’s what it’s called?”
She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. And she’s probably gonna tell me I can’t miss it too. But she sounds pretty confident so we thank her and drive off to this anticlimactically named liquor store that may or may not exist.