Molly glowered out the window as another pasture went by.
Angry music pumped through her headphones, drowning out the mellow bluegrass that her dad insisted was the perfect driving soundtrack.
The pasture gave way to hilly forest, and they rode through ten more minutes of nothingness, while Molly let the electric guitar fuel her pointless sulking. They passed a hand-painted sign that read:
You are entering:
Laurence Lake, Alabama
And my life, she thought, is officially over.