Start of '23
New York to Florida to drive across the South from Florida to Louisiana. Pictures were not the reason but the myths are everywhere and pictures became a reason too.
Feels like a journey across god's coffee table. Feels like being a toy car driver. Feels like that time we almost got a ticket out here but my cousin knew the cop and is not here this time.
When I was a kid I had recurring dreams about driving over an enormous bridges. Except in my dream it was all steel and angles.
Distant relative through marraige says the only book he reads by choice is the Bible. He is in college on a football scholarship.
He is angry. A latent anger he seems to have put aside for the holidays. I want to believe in another context we could be friends.
Buildings sit broken and boarded and too costly fix. The town is soaked and another year everything slips.
Feels impossibly far. At night, everything feels impossibly far away. The scale of the earth and the dirt and the road, it feels too grand, impossible to traverse.
Shakespear didn't shake him at all. No appetite for cannon. His brother said he read "Fire on the Plains" and I said I have, too.
Vagaries about looking wrong or sounding wrong or walking wrong. About being too educated.
Then back in New York there are other vagries. Mild worship of obtuse authors as if genius is in being incomprehensible.
His brother meant a pulp of a similar name. He has no compassion for losing at war and he does not realize no else is fighting.