The trip wasnt all that bad. A bit bumpy but wasnt too bad. The sights were good, better than good they were the best, its always a god thing to take a off the rails kid out to the country to see what throwing his life away will take from him. I mean it never works, but it makes you think! It makes yoy think about how life can be a bitch and how you need to grab it by the balls, no class can teach you how to survive. Thats why the big guy created marks, people who can let you get a free holiday in the woods without asking for much, it was all litterly charity. He would have to be nice and good to them but if worse comes you worse he could seduce one of the girls and get a ally on his side. When they arrived he took a pirch on the wall smoking a cigeret, he hated the taste and the resedue it leaves but it makes him look like a certified bad boy. He watched from the wall as the girls swam. Even if they are just marks he could have some fun if he could get them drunk enough. There is nothing better than a bunch of drunk highschool students and a game of spin the bottle that goes too far.
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Mr Postman was driving through the forest, as usual. This was a usual route for him, not only was it quicker but the roads were rarely used meaning he could go as fast or slow as he felt. Why would you use a road that is mostly dirt and stone, especily one that years of heavy rain has made unstable and on higher older parts, colapseable. Its a delivery drivers paradice. 

He haddnt been driving long, infact he had just got off the freeway and onto the old paths. Today he felt like going around the river, the ages had made a nice path that wouldnt fall under preasure. He just came down from the top roads when the headlights hit him, blinded by the large floodlightesque beamers he swerved and skidded around throwing stones and dirt everywhere. Thankfuly nothing was damaged but it sure as hell scared him. Looking up from his cabin he could see a RV was sitting blocking the way. So sad about children going crazy without parents, but what could he do? Mostly children will call him posty pete or letterbox lessy. He could and should go around, so he tried. 'Vroom, Scurushhhhhh, Clonk Splat' was the response. His swerve had stuck him in a small ditch. It would be immpossible to reverse and harder to push on his own. Climbing out he stood on the road looking at the kids in the water. "Hey! Kids! Can I have a helping hand with the van please? Your RV did cause this!"