Tourist Hole

A game of roadside attractions and existential spookies You've seen signs for it, littering the desert vista for hours. "NO SCIENTIST. NO PHILOSOPHER. DARES EXPLAIN. THE MYSTERIOUS QUESTION POINT." Letters painted so boldly they seem to shout over the lull of oldies drifting through the car radio. No other explanation follows, other than a countdown of miles as you approach Exit 276.  You've seen people lose their senses, lose their wallets, lose their ways in places like this. And you're beginning to wonder if they're all connected. That girl in the "I Screeeaaaam for Ice Cream" t-shirt and dollar-store flip flops. That fella in a puffy jacket and rainbow Chucks. Why do you see them in every one of these spots? Maybe they're not just riding along this highway at your exact pace. Maybe they're part of it.  Hell, maybe you'll be part of it too, soon. The thing beneath all of these places. The Tourist Hole In Tourist Hole, you imagine yourselves as tourists, lured in by brochure copy and