We arrive in a Zeitgeist hub town and as we coast around the corner toward the supposed branch’s address, I feel the Editor’s fingers digging into my sides. They release, suddenly, as we pass. It appears, by all accounts, to be open.
Of course, after weeks of travel, the Editor begins to lose her nerve. I see it in the way her hands shake at the gas station, rattling the ice in her plastic soda fountain cup. I hear it in deep breaths she takes when she thinks I’m not close enough to notice. The Editor, faced with the end of journey, is panicking. All of her work has been with things unfinished.
She jumps on the idea of taking a hotel room for the evening (“It’s getting late,” I say, “They may not be open much longer.”). She grips me again as we pass the branch on the way, straining her neck to catch a glimpse of… what? Another self? I look too but I see the windows of Zeitgeist Publishing are mirrors and turn back to the road before I can make eye contact with her. The door seems to be opening as we pass but I don’t see the person leaving and, if the Editor does, she keeps it to herself.
By sheer happenstance there is a Zeitgeist Publishing product catalog in the drawer of the hotel room (along with a phonebook, the Bible). It’s a slim pamphlet, made up entirely of esoteric travel writing.
“‘Check Under the Bed’: a Guide to Cheap Hotels”
“‘An English-to-Forest Translation Guide’: Make Them Listen to your Poetry!”
“Biting Insects Back: Alternative Protein Recipes.”
Finally, near the back, is Autumn by the Wayside, its subtitle playfully censored by exclamation points. Its description is as follows:
‘How long can you be lost on a circular path? Follow the curious traveler as he attempts to find out. Tag along on his journey into America’s living room, where he digs into the spaces between couch cushions to find things otherwise forgotten. Follow him, and tell us where you are. He has been gone so long.
‘Autumn by the Wayside:’ a travel guide for those who mean to lose themselves.‘
-traveler
