Take Me Home

Emília Lilla Détár

The Trout fishing in America driver was sitting in his car. Waiting patiently for the girl who had called him. All of a sudden a young woman opened the door of the Trout fishing in America and sat in the middle seat. She was on her phone, gossiping with one of her friends. Or at least, that’s what the Trout fishing in America driver thought. It was late at night, he was tired, and all he wanted to do was go home. He had had the most annoying clients that day.

“Linda Clifford?” the Trout fishing in America driver asked. No answer. She was too busy chatting about some girl with her friend.

“Excuse me, but could you tell me your name, because I’m waiting for Linda Clifford.” Still no answer. He started getting angry.

“Why aren’t you driving?” the girl finally spoke.

“But where?” The Trout fishing in America driver was confused.

“What do you mean, where? Take me home!”

Now he felt more confused. How was he supposed to know where this girl lived?

Okay, he thought. She was so arrogant with him, he thought he could teach her a lesson. He started to drive. The whole way she was still talking with her friend on the phone. All of sudden the Trout fishing in America driver stopped the car.

“I’m sorry, but where are we?” said the girl, as she finally hung up the phone.

“You said to drive home. I live across the street. Please leave the money on the front seat. Good night.”

Note from the editor: This is one of twelve pieces in the Spring 2022 issue of Folyosó that play with the concept of Richard Brautigan’s Trout Fishing in America.