James T. Kirk Memorial Causeway, Sunday night

[fh_extras]

Finally, at the end of the night, the little gingerbread man saw road up ahead. After a long dash towards it, he stopped, panting for a while. Or well, he would have if he could pant. But he didn't breathe. So there. It didn't look like anyone would step on him or eat him or anything, so he could finally hobble father and farther away from the weird fleshy people.

Of course... he did have weetiny legs and he'd already had a very long day.

So he waited on the side of the road and stuck his thumb out.