Ten years after the great war, legend says there’s a hot dog van still running. Half expecting there’s still decent food, I decided to chase it up.
When I finally see it on the side of an abandoned road, covered with rust and vines, my heart sinks. But I still have some hope. Maybe there are some cans left. At least I have to look for something useful like I always do.
I’m astounded. Not only there’s no food, but there’s nothing. I find a note sticking to where the dashboard used to be. “Sorry for taking everything. Gotta keep my van running. For hot dogs, head east.”