Postcard from the edge. No, seriously.

Yesterweek, I introduced you to Euell, the main character of my latest project. This week, you get a peek at one of the many postcards he'll be sending home to his beloved Penelope as he makes his way across the United States.

Heckhole Station was once the train depot for Cnossos, MI, a suburb of Troy, MI, itself a suburb of Detroit, MI, itself a heckhole. On a sunny day in march back in 1943, the earth opened up under a newly-arrived passenger train and swallowed 9 cars. None of the three people in those cars, including two porters and a porter-in-training, were ever heard from again.

Some, such as the Cnossos City Council and the US Department of Transportation, would lead you to believe a subterranean river caved in, creating the sinkhole. But many others, the proprietor of Heckhole Station Museum and Cafe chief among them, are aware/originator of a darker account of what happened that day. This "concealed history" is told only to those brave enough to pay for the hole tour ($8 adult, $7.50 child with military discount available). I can't quite remember how it goes, something about a cursed Indian burial ground, a large sum of Confederate gold, and pocket-sized earthquake device.

Frankly, I couldn't be bothered by the story. I was too busy expectorating into the hole in an attempt to aurally discern its depth. Lougie after lougie, no report returned to aid my deduction.

Suppose we'll have to take it on faith that the hole truly leads to the bowels of heck.


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