If I've Abducted Your Grandfather, I Apologise

After yet another surreal transaction at a Country Store (see previous post for details) I am barrelling home in my Disco-Pants blue pickup truck, my faithful 45kg Bulldog grinning on the back seat, a spot of Led Zepplin on the stereo when I see a strange apparition at the roadside.
There stood an elderly gentleman with Einstein hair and festive eyebrows, smiling benignly with his thumb out at one of the desolate bustops on the country road back towards the A3 . I have never seen any activity at one of these stops in over five years of living here- although there is a bustop in Smalltown that is exclusively populated by the alien postal workers from Men in Black 2, but I digress- so as an ex-hitchiker myself, who has always been of the opinion that if someone wanted to murder me they wouldnt stand at the roadside inhaling diesel fumes and advertising their description and location to hundreds of roadusers first, I pulled over. Poor soul must have missed the bus.
"I'm going to Smalltown" I shouted through the passenger window, "Need a lift?"
"Haha, yes!" Beamed the gentleman, and in he hopped.
Bulldog promptly went bonkers, he's such a puyssycat I sometimes forget how big and scary he looks and how he genuinely believes that he was put on this earth to defend my honour (I dont like to disillusion him) so I ended up driving with my left arm restraining a bristling growling monster. In an effort to distract the poor man I resort to smalltalk.
"So, did you miss the bus then?" I enquired over the furious grumbling from the back seat.
"Haha, yes!" .
"You live in Mundane Lane?"
"Haha, yes!" he replied, bouncing up and down in the seat and peering delightedly at the road ahead.
"Going shopping in Smalltown?"
"Haha, yes!"
A sneaking suspicion overtook me, "Do you think we'll have a sandstorm later?"
"Haha, yes!"
"Or a plague of frogs?"
"Haha, yes!"
Oh shit.
We continued in silence, punctuated only by Dog Swearing from behind my headrest. My mind's eye travelled to a tasteful and well-appointed Care Home (of which there are many in this part of the world), a scrubbed and smiling young lady with a tray of tea things is knocking at a door."George, George, here you go smiling boy, tea and biscuits."
The room is empty, the window lock broken and a rope of knotted sheets swings down to the ground outside.
"Shit, he's got out again! Madge - have you seen George?"
"Oh he'll be at the bus stop as usual, he's got no money on him dont worry, I'll go and find him in a minute."
It occured to me if I had looked in my rear view mirror as I picked up my hitcher I would have seen a woman in a nurse's uniform sprinting up the road with a comedy syringe in her hand, a small fountain of sedative springing from its tip.

We swung into town. "Pub!" The man squealed, grabbing my arm delightedly (at which point Bulldog started chewing through his car harness in fury) "Haha, yes! The Provincial Club!"
This is a building of spectacular ugliness in an otherwise delightful town, from the 70's school of Fuck You All architecture, "You want to be dropped there?" I asked incredulously, I have yet to meet anyone who has ever been inside, I think it may be where the Bus Stop Mutants live.
"Haha, yes!"
I pulled into the carpark, "Its been nice meeting you, will you be ok getting the bus home?"
"Haha, yes!" He started to clamber out of the truck.
"Bye then, take care!"
He stepped down onto the pavement and regarded me for a moment- was that mischief or madness in his eyes? "Goodbye young man!"
Oh lor- if you've never met me I'm a tiny middle-aged woman with a large chest and long hair. About as butch  as a tutu. So if anyone is missing an elderly relative in Surrey I'm deeply sorry, I was only trying to help an old man out, if its any consolation he positively skipped into the Provincial Club's door, he's probably still there confusing the staff.