This seemed like the right spot. They had picnicked there seven years ago. He picked her up from work for a lunch date and rather than getting a reuben at the diner he had driven her miles from anything and pulled a fairytale picnic out of the trunk of his car. He quoted Robert Frost gave her a single rose and got down on his knees and asked her to marry him. She could not believe how lucky she was, he was a young handsome writer, charming and interested in her(?) Too good to true.
He was all flash, the picnic was put together by the grocery store deli. He had misquoted the poem, and he did not know any others aside form the usual dirty limericks. The rose wilted. The wedding never happened, although he got free place to live while he was finishing his novel. Turns out finishing his novel meant fucking the drugstore clerk, the mail carrier, the neighbor and her sister. She had only caught him the one time, with the obstetrics nurse, ("Come on baby you know you are the one I love, but six weeks is too long for me to go without getting some.") She did not want their daughter growing up with a doormat as a role model, so she killed him. She rolled him out of the trunk of her car on that road, the one less traveled by,and that has made all the difference.