08.06.06 - 1:06 p.m.

3 days winding along snarled woodsy US roadways, wearing imaginary goggles that magnify only the glimpse of a propane tank peeking out from behind buildings in tiny towns. Fruit and coffee fueled our progress... the point was getting all the death-defying stuff done in the dark. Then it was hitting Highway 1 to embrace the roller coast, just barely, with some swervy tires sewn together with pennies. We traced the route with rubber, metal, wood, and a pink pencil. Fake nails, vagabonds, and splendid old sleeper vans that run on propane are rare, and one "server" at a station perched on the edge of a cliff even proclaimed it "illegal." So we shot across the street. Where Poppet's valve once again froze off some gas stationer's hands.

Third day nightfall, and we round a bend and find our headlamps face to face with the carved fisherman dude in front of the kite store in the dark. It's "home" looming out of the black, and we stop hurtling through interstellar space only one other time after that.

see< >saw

i whisper hello to everything