The stress of rush hour traffic and a wicked pre-dinner hazy fatigue combined, finally, to drain him of the will to bother anymore about anything. Screw it, he thought, I'm just going to pull over and take a nap. He pulled his car over onto the shoulder and got out, slamming the door behind him. He turned his back to the traffic jam on the highway, and walked a good hundred yards into the cornfield. Sleep came like a steamroller over his willing body.

When he woke up, the sun was still out, but the traffic jam was gone. In fact there was not a car to be seen or heard on the highway, which was almost overgrown with weeds. His own car was also gone. It was very quiet, without even the song of a bird to break the silence.

He walked several miles to the next exit, past several run-down gas stations, and finally found a bar. The beer was in a Budweiser bottle, but tasted nothing like Budweiser; in fact, it tasted excellent. He could hardly understand the bartender or the two other young men there, though they were speaking something like English. There was no radio and no music.
(via BlackBerry)