Hotels in lido venice italy

Do you know the Top 10 Best Hotels in the World You Must Visit in 2022 and the Top 10 Best and Most Popular Restaurants in the World? Accordingly, when we go to any destination, the hotel room becomes our venue for relaxation.
https://thedailytop10.com/top-10-most-important-things-you-must-not-do-in-a-hotel-room

We are seriously considering staying in this area and wonder if there are any downsides. Tokyo will be our last stop of a month long first time trip to Japan and after the reports of huge crowds in the areas we will be visiting (Kanazawa, Kyoto, Takayama, Hiroshima and Okayama) I am thinking a more relaxed neighborhood would suit us at the end of our trip. Has anyone used this area as a base in Tokyo? Any thoughts about hotels, guesthouses, etc? would appreciate any feedback.

We are in the process of building a home. We were given a estimation that the home would be complete on or around the last week of April upon signing contract and have stayed in touch with the builders throughout the process. As of the first of March, when we last checked in, the home project was on time and still projected to finish by the end of April. Yesterday, when I asked why we have not received notice of a closing date (they are supposed to provide notice when within 30 days) the building manager advised me that my closing date now won't be until "mid May."
My real estate agent is currently working to combat the problem but in the mean time I contacted the apartment management to ask for an extension. Unfortunately, I already gave notice back in Feb that we would not be renewing our lease which ends on April 30th because they require 60 days notice of non-renewal. At the time I gave notice, I explained the situation and asked that given I don't have an exact date, would there be any issue with me staying over for a few days/weeks if there were some kind of delay. The woman I talked to said it would be fine and that it happens all the time and just to keep them aware of any delays as soon as I find out.
I contacted management after finding out about the delay to inform them that I may be delayed by a week or two and the woman I spoke to informed me that the apartment had already been leased starting May 20th. I told her I know the unit has to be prepped for the next tenant and asked what the latest possible date I could extend to would be. She informed me that I could not stay a day over April 30th. I relayed the information that I was given by the person when I gave notice of non-renewal and she advised that this leniency is only in cases where the apartment isn't already leased to someone else. I told her that this was not particularly stated to me and she effectively gave me a "so sorry". I also understand that if it wasn't in writing I'm essentially fucked on that front.
Given that I'm 30 days out from this date I figured a month is a decent amount of time to give them notice that I may end up being a holdover tenant and she acted as though there's no real option for this. I am familiar with the legal system (mostly criminal...not civil) in my state and know that tenants cannot be evicted without notice but I'm not sure if having filed a notice of intent to vacate would work against me. I want to to this as legally as possible but as far as my reading of the law goes, if I stay past my my eviction date, I fall under holder over tenancy in which they would have to start an eviction process. Obviously I don't want to go about it this way as it opens me up to being sued etc.
What are my best options here should the delay be confirmed? Is there some sort of court injunction I could file against the apartment management? Should I go ahead and retain a lawyer or is there literally no hope I have any legal recourse?
I guess I could move all our shit into a pod and do a long term stay at a hotel in the meantime but I think it's a little bit ridiculous that they can't give me a weeks leniency if I'm fully willing to pay for it and they don't have a tenant scheduled until the end of May.
I'm 100% aware of the mistake of giving notice so close to my closing date but obviously I'm past that point. Any advice is very much appreciated.

Hello!
So I am thinking about relocating to Wilmington, NC to possibly work in film. I want to visit for a few days, network, meet some people, and get a feel for the place to see if I'd be interested in moving down.
The Airbnb I found is pretty cheap but it's only available for 3 nights, I could find another hotel or Bnb but then I would be pushing it budget-wise (not out of the question though)
Do you think three nights is enough?
Also, does anyone know any places where the film people tend to hang out?

I was travelling through Eastern Europe at the time and heard about a curse involving a Hitchhiker on an abandoned road.
I was the kinda person who ran towards shit like that. I wish I hadn’t.
The road was on the outskirts of a town and the locals gave me a good warning about it. The warning was simple - Once the sun drops, don’t drive down Zavodska rd.
I asked if that was because of looters or gangs or punk kids. But the locals said “No. It was because of the curse of ‘Avtostopnyk.’” Which is Ukrainian for “The Hitcher.” They warned me to not just think about myself, but also my friends and family.
I was curious, but lied and said I’d take their warnings.
That night, I went for a drive to Zavodska rd.
On the map, it showed the road started and finished with dead ends that had offshoots left and right.
Zavodska was six kilometres long, but a straight line distance between its beginning and end was only one kilometre. The road curved and swirled so much it made the length of the trip six times longer.
I arrived at the offshoot that led onto Zavodska. The entrance looked like every other quiet country road I’d passed to get here. But this road was separating two sets of forests which grew thicker and canopied overhead the further you went.
I turned onto Zavodska and drove thirty feet before the road curved off to the right. It turned sharply, right again, left again, and before I knew it, I lost all sense of direction.
I drove slow, taking my time as I followed the winding road through the thickening woods.
After five minutes, I came out the other side and Zavodska ended. Either I could go left or right, but Zavodska rd. was done.
The locals said that driving down the road was like playing Russian roulette. People mostly got lucky and the curse wouldn’t materialize.
But sometimes, if you turned your headlights off for a minute while driving then turned them back on, it would cause the curse to manifest.
I flicked off my headlights and slowly re-entered Zavodska. Without my lights, I was just barely able to see five feet ahead. A minute passed. Then two.
I turned my lights back on and immediately saw something ahead.
A figure was standing to the right of the road. Its arm was out, thumb up in a hitchhiking position.
I drove closer and made out the details of the figure.
It was a man. A homeless vagrant wearing a Priest’s outfit with a dirty collar. His hair was dark and wild and his eyes were demented. His face was covered in bloody wrinkles.
I couldn’t tell if he was smiling or screaming.
Within seconds of seeing him, I’d sweat through all my clothes.
I pushed the gas down to speed by him.
But it had the opposite effect. The car slowed. I slammed the gas pedal. Stomped it. Kicked it. But the car crept along, idling up next to the Hitcher.
The Hitcher came right up to the window, pressing his bloody, wrinkled face against it.
His smile pushed through the glass without breaking it and I felt his cold breath on my face. His eyes shimmered like a cat’s with an orange glow.
At this point I’d realized, somehow, I’d confused the gas pedal with the brakes and switched my feet. I hit the actual gas and peeled away, leaving a bloody wrinkle smear across the passenger side window.
I whipped around the next corner and the Hitcher disappeared from my rearview. But he reappeared, three more times along the side of the road, as I tried to get off Zavodska.
Finally, I reached the entrance and got onto the next road. And the next. And before I knew it I was back in the village. I went to my hotel, got my things and cut my vacay short.
The next day, I was on a flight back home.
But I kept seeing him.
It wasn’t often, but sometimes when I’d drive at night, I’d see the Hitcher on the side of the road. He started off with just a smile and a wave. Then he started running out into the street to get in front of my car.
Then he started trying to jump on the car. I was always alone, so I could never ask anyone if they saw him. I couldn’t tell if it was all in my head, or real.
I never saw him when I was walking, so the small amount of time I actually spent in a car went to nearly zero. I rarely travelled in cars or buses or any forms of road transit. I basically walked everywhere.
But I stopped driving or riding in transit altogether two years after I drove down Zavodska.
I was DD’ing my friend Jamie home from a dinner party when I saw the Hitcher in the middle of the road. I swerved to avoid him and figured Jamie thought I was crazy.
But Jamie saw the Hitcher too. He described the Hitcher’s Priest-like outfit and wondered why he was in the middle of the road, raging at me.
I wasn’t sure if it felt better knowing that someone else could see the Hitcher. Or worse knowing that the Hitcher had followed me home from Zavodska and was, in fact, real.
A week later, Jamie called me and told me he’d seen the Hitcher again when he was out for a drive with his wife. She’d seen him too.
A few days after, they both died in a freak car accident.
I haven’t stepped in a car again since.
But last week, I rode the city bus for the first time in years. And the second stop after I got on, I saw him.
The Hitcher.
He was on the side of the road. And he had my friend Jamie with him, and Jamie’s wife, who were both badly decomposed, but not dead.
I could see them weakly struggling. But they were being held up by the back of their necks by the Hitcher, who was in complete control.
The Hitcher made the two bodies move around like grotesque ventriloquist dummies, as he himself laughed and danced.
We drove past the spectacle, and I realized everyone on the bus was staring at the Hitcher too.

Dear friends,
We are a family of six who recently made the decision to move to the Ishpeming from Kalamazoo in search of a better life. Sadly, our dreams have been shattered by a terrible situation that we never could have imagined.
We arrived at our new home to find that everything was not as it seemed. The landlord had listed the home as a three-bedroom, but in reality, it was only a one-bedroom with one room split in half and the living room split to create a third room. The furniture left behind was old, disgusting, and clearly not suitable for a family to live with. On top of that, we found medicines, brushes, books, and broken fixtures all around the house - it looked as if someone had been squatting in the home.
As if that wasn't bad enough, we soon discovered that there was a dangerous gas leak in the house. We immediately contacted our landlord to ask for permission to break the lease or to receive some kind of compensation, but our pleas fell on deaf ears. We had no choice but to rent a hotel for the night and leave our belongings behind.
We now find ourselves in a desperate situation. We have only one day to find a new home and move our belongings, with no help or support from our landlord. We have a truck with all of our belongings, but we can't move anything into the home due to the gas leak. If we can't find a solution soon, we will be homeless.
If anyone has any suggestions or a place they could help us get into, we would greatly appreciate it.
Have a great day and God Bless.

I was travelling through Eastern Europe at the time and heard about a curse involving a Hitchhiker on an abandoned road.
I was the kinda person who ran towards shit like that. I wish I hadn’t.
The road was on the outskirts of a town and the locals gave me a good warning about it. The warning was simple - Once the sun drops, don’t drive down Zavodska rd.
I asked if that was because of looters or gangs or punk kids. But the locals said “No. It was because of the curse of ‘Avtostopnyk.’” Which is Ukrainian for “The Hitcher.” They warned me to not just think about myself, but also my friends and family.
I was curious, but lied and said I’d take their warnings.
That night, I went for a drive to Zavodska rd.
On the map, it showed the road started and finished with dead ends that had offshoots left and right.
Zavodska was six kilometres long, but a straight line distance between its beginning and end was only one kilometre. The road curved and swirled so much it made the length of the trip six times longer.
I arrived at the offshoot that led onto Zavodska. The entrance looked like every other quiet country road I’d passed to get here. But this road was separating two sets of forests which grew thicker and canopied overhead the further you went.
I turned onto Zavodska and drove thirty feet before the road curved off to the right. It turned sharply, right again, left again, and before I knew it, I lost all sense of direction.
I drove slow, taking my time as I followed the winding road through the thickening woods.
After five minutes, I came out the other side and Zavodska ended. Either I could go left or right, but Zavodska rd. was done.
The locals said that driving down the road was like playing Russian roulette. People mostly got lucky and the curse wouldn’t materialize.
But sometimes, if you turned your headlights off for a minute while driving then turned them back on, it would cause the curse to manifest.
I flicked off my headlights and slowly re-entered Zavodska. Without my lights, I was just barely able to see five feet ahead. A minute passed. Then two.
I turned my lights back on and immediately saw something ahead.
A figure was standing to the right of the road. Its arm was out, thumb up in a hitchhiking position.
I drove closer and made out the details of the figure.
It was a man. A homeless vagrant wearing a Priest’s outfit with a dirty collar. His hair was dark and wild and his eyes were demented. His face was covered in bloody wrinkles.
I couldn’t tell if he was smiling or screaming.
Within seconds of seeing him, I’d sweat through all my clothes.
I pushed the gas down to speed by him.
But it had the opposite effect. The car slowed. I slammed the gas pedal. Stomped it. Kicked it. But the car crept along, idling up next to the Hitcher.
The Hitcher came right up to the window, pressing his bloody, wrinkled face against it.
His smile pushed through the glass without breaking it and I felt his cold breath on my face. His eyes shimmered like a cat’s with an orange glow.
At this point I’d realized, somehow, I’d confused the gas pedal with the brakes and switched my feet. I hit the actual gas and peeled away, leaving a bloody wrinkle smear across the passenger side window.
I whipped around the next corner and the Hitcher disappeared from my rearview. But he reappeared, three more times along the side of the road, as I tried to get off Zavodska.
Finally, I reached the entrance and got onto the next road. And the next. And before I knew it I was back in the village. I went to my hotel, got my things and cut my vacay short.
The next day, I was on a flight back home.
But I kept seeing him.
It wasn’t often, but sometimes when I’d drive at night, I’d see the Hitcher on the side of the road. He started off with just a smile and a wave. Then he started running out into the street to get in front of my car.
Then he started trying to jump on the car. I was always alone, so I could never ask anyone if they saw him. I couldn’t tell if it was all in my head, or real.
I never saw him when I was walking, so the small amount of time I actually spent in a car went to nearly zero. I rarely travelled in cars or buses or any forms of road transit. I basically walked everywhere.
But I stopped driving or riding in transit altogether two years after I drove down Zavodska.
I was DD’ing my friend Jamie home from a dinner party when I saw the Hitcher in the middle of the road. I swerved to avoid him and figured Jamie thought I was crazy.
But Jamie saw the Hitcher too. He described the Hitcher’s Priest-like outfit and wondered why he was in the middle of the road, raging at me.
I wasn’t sure if it felt better knowing that someone else could see the Hitcher. Or worse knowing that the Hitcher had followed me home from Zavodska and was, in fact, real.
A week later, Jamie called me and told me he’d seen the Hitcher again when he was out for a drive with his wife. She’d seen him too.
A few days after, they both died in a freak car accident.
I haven’t stepped in a car again since.
But last week, I rode the city bus for the first time in years. And the second stop after I got on, I saw him.
The Hitcher.
He was on the side of the road. And he had my friend Jamie with him, and Jamie’s wife, who were both badly decomposed, but not dead.
I could see them weakly struggling. But they were being held up by the back of their necks by the Hitcher, who was in complete control.
The Hitcher made the two bodies move around like grotesque ventriloquist dummies, as he himself laughed and danced.
We drove past the spectacle, and I realized everyone on the bus was staring at the Hitcher too.

I’m going to be living in a low-to-mid-tier hotel for two months for work. I’ve traveled a lot but never lived from a hotel like this. What are your essentials for hotel living? Assume price is no object, and packing light is not a priority.

• I’ll have access to a fully equipped kitchen in a different part of the hotel, I think, so meals aren’t a huge issue, but snacks may be.
  
• I’ll have to do my makeup + hair every day, so beauty-related stuff (eg travel size lighted mirror) is included
  
• I’ll be able to get my dry cleaning and washing done by the hotel, but I’m not sure how quick the turnaround will be
  

I was travelling through Eastern Europe at the time and heard about a curse involving a Hitchhiker on an abandoned road.
I was the kinda person who ran towards shit like that. I wish I hadn’t.
The road was on the outskirts of a town and the locals gave me a good warning about it. The warning was simple - Once the sun drops, don’t drive down Zavodska rd.
I asked if that was because of looters or gangs or punk kids. But the locals said “No. It was because of the curse of ‘Avtostopnyk.’” Which is Ukrainian for “The Hitcher.” They warned me to not just think about myself, but also my friends and family.
I was curious, but lied and said I’d take their warnings.
That night, I went for a drive to Zavodska rd.
On the map, it showed the road started and finished with dead ends that had offshoots left and right.
Zavodska was six kilometres long, but a straight line distance between its beginning and end was only one kilometre. The road curved and swirled so much it made the length of the trip six times longer.
I arrived at the offshoot that led onto Zavodska. The entrance looked like every other quiet country road I’d passed to get here. But this road was separating two sets of forests which grew thicker and canopied overhead the further you went.
I turned onto Zavodska and drove thirty feet before the road curved off to the right. It turned sharply, right again, left again, and before I knew it, I lost all sense of direction.
I drove slow, taking my time as I followed the winding road through the thickening woods.
After five minutes, I came out the other side and Zavodska ended. Either I could go left or right, but Zavodska rd. was done.
The locals said that driving down the road was like playing Russian roulette. People mostly got lucky and the curse wouldn’t materialize.
But sometimes, if you turned your headlights off for a minute while driving then turned them back on, it would cause the curse to manifest.
I flicked off my headlights and slowly re-entered Zavodska. Without my lights, I was just barely able to see five feet ahead. A minute passed. Then two.
I turned my lights back on and immediately saw something ahead.
A figure was standing to the right of the road. Its arm was out, thumb up in a hitchhiking position.
I drove closer and made out the details of the figure.
It was a man. A homeless vagrant wearing a Priest’s outfit with a dirty collar. His hair was dark and wild and his eyes were demented. His face was covered in bloody wrinkles.
I couldn’t tell if he was smiling or screaming.
Within seconds of seeing him, I’d sweat through all my clothes.
I pushed the gas down to speed by him.
But it had the opposite effect. The car slowed. I slammed the gas pedal. Stomped it. Kicked it. But the car crept along, idling up next to the Hitcher.
The Hitcher came right up to the window, pressing his bloody, wrinkled face against it.
His smile pushed through the glass without breaking it and I felt his cold breath on my face. His eyes shimmered like a cat’s with an orange glow.
At this point I’d realized, somehow, I’d confused the gas pedal with the brakes and switched my feet. I hit the actual gas and peeled away, leaving a bloody wrinkle smear across the passenger side window.
I whipped around the next corner and the Hitcher disappeared from my rearview. But he reappeared, three more times along the side of the road, as I tried to get off Zavodska.
Finally, I reached the entrance and got onto the next road. And the next. And before I knew it I was back in the village. I went to my hotel, got my things and cut my vacay short.
The next day, I was on a flight back home.
But I kept seeing him.
It wasn’t often, but sometimes when I’d drive at night, I’d see the Hitcher on the side of the road. He started off with just a smile and a wave. Then he started running out into the street to get in front of my car.
Then he started trying to jump on the car. I was always alone, so I could never ask anyone if they saw him. I couldn’t tell if it was all in my head, or real.
I never saw him when I was walking, so the small amount of time I actually spent in a car went to nearly zero. I rarely travelled in cars or buses or any forms of road transit. I basically walked everywhere.
But I stopped driving or riding in transit altogether two years after I drove down Zavodska.
I was DD’ing my friend Jamie home from a dinner party when I saw the Hitcher in the middle of the road. I swerved to avoid him and figured Jamie thought I was crazy.
But Jamie saw the Hitcher too. He described the Hitcher’s Priest-like outfit and wondered why he was in the middle of the road, raging at me.
I wasn’t sure if it felt better knowing that someone else could see the Hitcher. Or worse knowing that the Hitcher had followed me home from Zavodska and was, in fact, real.
A week later, Jamie called me and told me he’d seen the Hitcher again when he was out for a drive with his wife. She’d seen him too.
A few days after, they both died in a freak car accident.
I haven’t stepped in a car again since.
But last week, I rode the city bus for the first time in years. And the second stop after I got on, I saw him.
The Hitcher.
He was on the side of the road. And he had my friend Jamie with him, and Jamie’s wife, who were both badly decomposed, but not dead.
I could see them weakly struggling. But they were being held up by the back of their necks by the Hitcher, who was in complete control.
The Hitcher made the two bodies move around like grotesque ventriloquist dummies, as he himself laughed and danced.
We drove past the spectacle, and I realized everyone on the bus was staring at the Hitcher too.

I was travelling through Eastern Europe at the time and heard about a curse involving a Hitchhiker on an abandoned road.
I was the kinda person who ran towards shit like that. I wish I hadn’t.
The road was on the outskirts of a town and the locals gave me a good warning about it. The warning was simple - Once the sun drops, don’t drive down Zavodska rd.
I asked if that was because of looters or gangs or punk kids. But the locals said “No. It was because of the curse of ‘Avtostopnyk.’” Which is Ukrainian for “The Hitcher.” They warned me to not just think about myself, but also my friends and family.
I was curious, but lied and said I’d take their warnings.
That night, I went for a drive to Zavodska rd.
On the map, it showed the road started and finished with dead ends that had offshoots left and right.
Zavodska was six kilometres long, but a straight line distance between its beginning and end was only one kilometre. The road curved and swirled so much it made the length of the trip six times longer.
I arrived at the offshoot that led onto Zavodska. The entrance looked like every other quiet country road I’d passed to get here. But this road was separating two sets of forests which grew thicker and canopied overhead the further you went.
I turned onto Zavodska and drove thirty feet before the road curved off to the right. It turned sharply, right again, left again, and before I knew it, I lost all sense of direction.
I drove slow, taking my time as I followed the winding road through the thickening woods.
After five minutes, I came out the other side and Zavodska ended. Either I could go left or right, but Zavodska rd. was done.
The locals said that driving down the road was like playing Russian roulette. People mostly got lucky and the curse wouldn’t materialize.
But sometimes, if you turned your headlights off for a minute while driving then turned them back on, it would cause the curse to manifest.
I flicked off my headlights and slowly re-entered Zavodska. Without my lights, I was just barely able to see five feet ahead. A minute passed. Then two.
I turned my lights back on and immediately saw something ahead.
A figure was standing to the right of the road. Its arm was out, thumb up in a hitchhiking position.
I drove closer and made out the details of the figure.
It was a man. A homeless vagrant wearing a Priest’s outfit with a dirty collar. His hair was dark and wild and his eyes were demented. His face was covered in bloody wrinkles.
I couldn’t tell if he was smiling or screaming.
Within seconds of seeing him, I’d sweat through all my clothes.
I pushed the gas down to speed by him.
But it had the opposite effect. The car slowed. I slammed the gas pedal. Stomped it. Kicked it. But the car crept along, idling up next to the Hitcher.
The Hitcher came right up to the window, pressing his bloody, wrinkled face against it.
His smile pushed through the glass without breaking it and I felt his cold breath on my face. His eyes shimmered like a cat’s with an orange glow.
At this point I’d realized, somehow, I’d confused the gas pedal with the brakes and switched my feet. I hit the actual gas and peeled away, leaving a bloody wrinkle smear across the passenger side window.
I whipped around the next corner and the Hitcher disappeared from my rearview. But he reappeared, three more times along the side of the road, as I tried to get off Zavodska.
Finally, I reached the entrance and got onto the next road. And the next. And before I knew it I was back in the village. I went to my hotel, got my things and cut my vacay short.
The next day, I was on a flight back home.
But I kept seeing him.
It wasn’t often, but sometimes when I’d drive at night, I’d see the Hitcher on the side of the road. He started off with just a smile and a wave. Then he started running out into the street to get in front of my car.
Then he started trying to jump on the car. I was always alone, so I could never ask anyone if they saw him. I couldn’t tell if it was all in my head, or real.
I never saw him when I was walking, so the small amount of time I actually spent in a car went to nearly zero. I rarely travelled in cars or buses or any forms of road transit. I basically walked everywhere.
But I stopped driving or riding in transit altogether two years after I drove down Zavodska.
I was DD’ing my friend Jamie home from a dinner party when I saw the Hitcher in the middle of the road. I swerved to avoid him and figured Jamie thought I was crazy.
But Jamie saw the Hitcher too. He described the Hitcher’s Priest-like outfit and wondered why he was in the middle of the road, raging at me.
I wasn’t sure if it felt better knowing that someone else could see the Hitcher. Or worse knowing that the Hitcher had followed me home from Zavodska and was, in fact, real.
A week later, Jamie called me and told me he’d seen the Hitcher again when he was out for a drive with his wife. She’d seen him too.
A few days after, they both died in a freak car accident.
I haven’t stepped in a car again since.
But last week, I rode the city bus for the first time in years. And the second stop after I got on, I saw him.
The Hitcher.
He was on the side of the road. And he had my friend Jamie with him, and Jamie’s wife, who were both badly decomposed, but not dead.
I could see them weakly struggling. But they were being held up by the back of their necks by the Hitcher, who was in complete control.
The Hitcher made the two bodies move around like grotesque ventriloquist dummies, as he himself laughed and danced.
We drove past the spectacle, and I realized everyone on the bus was staring at the Hitcher too.

In the 90’s, I picked up a hitchhiker who won’t leave me alone.
I was travelling through Eastern Europe at the time and heard about a curse involving a Hitchhiker on an abandoned road.
I was the kinda person who ran towards shit like that. I wish I hadn’t.
The road was on the outskirts of a town and the locals gave me a good warning about it. The warning was simple - Once the sun drops, don’t drive down Zavodska rd.
I asked if that was because of looters or gangs or punk kids. But the locals said “No. It was because of the curse of ‘Avtostopnyk.’” Which is Ukrainian for “The Hitcher.” They warned me to not just think about myself, but also my friends and family.
I was curious, but lied and said I’d take their warnings.
That night, I went for a drive to Zavodska rd.
On the map, it showed the road started and finished with dead ends that had offshoots left and right.
Zavodska was six kilometres long, but a straight line distance between its beginning and end was only one kilometre. The road curved and swirled so much it made the length of the trip six times longer.
I arrived at the offshoot that led onto Zavodska. The entrance looked like every other quiet country road I’d passed to get here. But this road was separating two sets of forests which grew thicker and canopied overhead the further you went.
I turned onto Zavodska and drove thirty feet before the road curved off to the right. It turned sharply, right again, left again, and before I knew it, I lost all sense of direction.
I drove slow, taking my time as I followed the winding road through the thickening woods.
After five minutes, I came out the other side and Zavodska ended. Either I could go left or right, but Zavodska rd. was done.
The locals said that driving down the road was like playing Russian roulette. People mostly got lucky and the curse wouldn’t materialize.
But sometimes, if you turned your headlights off for a minute while driving then turned them back on, it would cause the curse to manifest.
I flicked off my headlights and slowly re-entered Zavodska. Without my lights, I was just barely able to see five feet ahead. A minute passed. Then two.
I turned my lights back on and immediately saw something ahead.
A figure was standing to the right of the road. Its arm was out, thumb up in a hitchhiking position.
I drove closer and made out the details of the figure.
It was a man. A homeless vagrant wearing a Priest’s outfit with a dirty collar. His hair was dark and wild and his eyes were demented. His face was covered in bloody wrinkles.
I couldn’t tell if he was smiling or screaming.
Within seconds of seeing him, I’d sweat through all my clothes.
I pushed the gas down to speed by him.
But it had the opposite effect. The car slowed. I slammed the gas pedal. Stomped it. Kicked it. But the car crept along, idling up next to the Hitcher.
The Hitcher came right up to the window, pressing his bloody, wrinkled face against it.
His smile pushed through the glass without breaking it and I felt his cold breath on my face. His eyes shimmered like a cat’s with an orange glow.
At this point I’d realized, somehow, I’d confused the gas pedal with the brakes and switched my feet. I hit the actual gas and peeled away, leaving a bloody wrinkle smear across the passenger side window.
I whipped around the next corner and the Hitcher disappeared from my rearview. But he reappeared, three more times along the side of the road, as I tried to get off Zavodska.
Finally, I reached the entrance and got onto the next road. And the next. And before I knew it I was back in the village. I went to my hotel, got my things and cut my vacay short.
The next day, I was on a flight back home.
But I kept seeing him.
It wasn’t often, but sometimes when I’d drive at night, I’d see the Hitcher on the side of the road. He started off with just a smile and a wave. Then he started running out into the street to get in front of my car.
Then he started trying to jump on the car. I was always alone, so I could never ask anyone if they saw him. I couldn’t tell if it was all in my head, or real.
I never saw him when I was walking, so the small amount of time I actually spent in a car went to nearly zero. I rarely travelled in cars or buses or any forms of road transit. I basically walked everywhere.
But I stopped driving or riding in transit altogether two years after I drove down Zavodska.
I was DD’ing my friend Jamie home from a dinner party when I saw the Hitcher in the middle of the road. I swerved to avoid him and figured Jamie thought I was crazy.
But Jamie saw the Hitcher too. He described the Hitcher’s Priest-like outfit and wondered why he was in the middle of the road, raging at me.
I wasn’t sure if it felt better knowing that someone else could see the Hitcher. Or worse knowing that the Hitcher had followed me home from Zavodska and was, in fact, real.
A week later, Jamie called me and told me he’d seen the Hitcher again when he was out for a drive with his wife. She’d seen him too.
A few days after, they both died in a freak car accident.
I haven’t stepped in a car again since.
But last week, I rode the city bus for the first time in years. And the second stop after I got on, I saw him.
The Hitcher.
He was on the side of the road. And he had my friend Jamie with him, and Jamie’s wife, who were both badly decomposed, but not dead.
I could see them weakly struggling. But they were being held up by the back of their necks by the Hitcher, who was in complete control.
The Hitcher made the two bodies move around like grotesque ventriloquist dummies, as he himself laughed and danced.
We drove past the spectacle, and I realized everyone on the bus was staring at the Hitcher too.

Hi everyone! My name is Martina. I am from Italy. I'm a 172cm tall woman who's looking for an honest man to be friends with and potentially date. I'm posting on Reddit because I'm hoping to find someone who shares similar values and interests as me .If you are interested in getting to know me better, please send me a message. I'd love to chat and see if we get connected. Looking forward to your reply!