I inherited my grandfather's antique car rental agency, and it was bound to a terrible system that day. "Deliver at least one order every day and drive it in person. If it exceeds the limit, it will be cancelled."
The first order is a female ghost in red, and the destination is a funeral parlor. I have not arrived at the thirty-minute journey after driving for an hour - the road is repeating, time is jumping, and the woman in the back seat keeps laughing.
When there were fifteen minutes left in the countdown, I finally understood: It wasn't that the road was inaccessible, but that she didn't want to leave.
Later I learned that this car rental company had transported more customers than a funeral home. And grandpa has been giving it away for thirty years.
