Munger Road opened at theaters across the country today. And I lived not too far from there.
Our family left the tightly-packed suburb of Forest Park, IL for rural West Chicago in summer when I was 10. One of the first things I remember was riding my bike on exploratory missions down Smith Road in the hot summer sun. Other than making myself very thirsty, I explored and found several new things about living in the country: farm machinery making strange new sounds, high-tension wires crackling with electromagnetism, acres and acres of cornfields, and a few new roads connecting unincorporated West Chicago to Army Trail Road near Wayne. One was Powis Road; it became the first point of connection for my bike to the good old Wayne Country Store, where I could get candy and cold pop as the reward for my journey.
The other road featured a equally strange name, but was more deserted. Munger Road.
Now I realize I lived a bit south of the eerie and fabled railroad crossing north of Army Trail, and most of my cycling took place on the south end of the road. But for some reason, I always felt something strange about going near that area--even in broad daylight. Perhaps it was just my imagination--running away with me. Or was it a premonition of a frightful future?
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