Difficult to read. Copying it as best I can from the notebook I found it in.
April (illegible). Time: somewhere before nine pm.
We were on our way home from (illegible) when we hit a pothole and blew out our back tire. in the midle of nowhere. Inside car lights aren't working, so I'm writing by the light of the emergency flashers. Dad's going nuts and blaming society at irresponsible Americans. For a pothole in the middle of the road? Really!?
Admittedly a little scared. Road(?) we're on is right in the woods. Not many cars driving by, takes a good two minutes between seeing them. Dad is still bitching, this time about coyotes and foxes and other things that hunt in the woods at night.
At least I'm not alone.
Gotten quiet again. Dad's cell rang and made me jump. Still waiting on the AAA guys to get here. I wonder whose woods(words?) are these?
Just heard a (illegible) somewhere out there. I'm going in the car. It's dark. Can't write. Too afraid to keep sitting outside.
Dad made me get out of the car, something about drunk drivers hitting us. It's getting cold. Writing against a tree but i cant see what im writing. Hard to see much(?).
All things aside, it's a beautiful night. (illegible) lingering over the trees
Back on the road. Cant se.
Dad's flipping out again. Hell if i care about what. Probably his job again. Thank god for iPods.
My handwriting here is so bad even I can only barely read it. I can't remember what day this was and the date is too scribbled for me to tell. I don't even remember it happening. Not really.
My father immigrated from Iran thirty years ago. He's a US citizen now, but he loves finding things that he hates about the government, the economy, etc. etc. I personally just think he's a crabby old man who needs to find a girlfriend. If my parents were still together I probably would've....done something drastic by now.