The concierge at the See Rock City Two Lane Motor Lodge told Harold he thought there was a magic store on Billy Mays Memorial Boulevard.
The guy didn’t look very trustworthy, but his glow-in-the-dark t-shirt depicting three wolves howling at a moon with an energy drink logo on it was pressed, so Harold decided to take a chance.
Harold figured it would be impossible to get an Uber in Furnace Gulch, Indiana during the Quit Saying James Dean Was Gay Festival and Motorcycle Rally, so he walked up Monte Hall Parkway toward Billy Mays Memorial Boulevard.
Harold had been on the road for six months selling lint screens door to door while hitting every Karaoke in Middle America trying to realize his dream of being America’s foremost Michael Stipe Tribute Act.
After the third time a Karaoke host at a lounge attached to a Lazer Bowling Family Fun Center said “Who the hell is Michael Stipe?”, Harold decided to pursue his second love, Magic.
Magic had become Harold’s second love two nights ago when his Turgidvision was inoperable and the concierge at the Creek With a Shadow of Jesus IntraState Motor Lodge tried to sell him a Gideon Bible for eighteen dollars because it had three naked Polaroids of his sister-in-law shoved in it.
Harold fell asleep to Youtube videos of a guy in a powder blue jumpsuit sawing in half an Astro Van with triplets in it and figured he could start small and work his way up.
On Billy Mays Boulevard, “Where The Streets Are Sprayed With Waterproofing,” Harold saw the Pocket Fisherman Museum, a My Pillow, Not Yours, Bro, and a Strapless Brassiere For the Whole Family. Attached to the Strapless Brassiere store was an all-you-can-eat steak place called the Strapless Brasserie, and Harold considered dining, but just beyond that was a store called HOCUS POTUS.
Harold was convinced his over-caffeinated concierge had steered him correctly until he walked through the doors of HOCUS POTUS and saw no wands, no top hats, no rabbits, no faux guillotines.
Just candles.
Harold was almost home to Garden City, Michigan, and hadn’t seen his mom since he had dropped her off at intensive in-patient Beanie Baby rehab.
As disappointed as he was that he wasn’t going to begin his journey as America’s foremost David BlaineTribute Act, he could at least get the old bat a candle as a souvenir of his trip across America getting booed offstage every night halfway through Orange Crush.
Harold approached a woman who was stocking shelves and said
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