“I still can’t see a fucking thing!”
Neither could I. Wind whipped whatever fragments of my blurred vision hadn’t become caked with ice. The road had been plowed since the first snowfall and you could still see the top foot of barbed wire, but round two of the white-out was quickly erasing any last landmark of orientation. Called it a hundred year blizzard, third one in a decade, something about a polar vortex forcing itself farther South as pressures rise to remove the cap on endangered glacier populations. A broken record of big bad wolves to blow our house down, except that thing ain’t budging, hope we make it back.
“Walk backwards,” I shouted into the wind as I started up another ceremony song, barely squeezing it out between my frozen breaths but knowing it was the only thing keeping us from getting lost to the world. Not too many months ago we topped a hundred and ten, and now it’s negative twenty-five, couldn’t imagine spending it in a tipi, not again anyway.
*******
Still a fragmented reality, yet less disjointed than the next three pages full of rantful meanders, a catastrophic failure of disaster porn as he changes channels on the climate control.
Might be the greatest existential threat to the existence of the great outdoors, but he hasn’t felt fresh air in days, kinda hard to prioritize the future when still hung up on a checkered past.
Passed-down impoverishment holds the masses bayside, a scratched-out survival leaves little time for saving the world...
*******
But saving the world slipped my mind as we sank three feet deep, a snow-capped waistline stirs memory of a warmer daydream.
Trinidad
Colorado not Tobago
Took all of ten minutes for a guided tour to begin, hardly enough time to digest the whole hotdog situation, at this rate I’ll never get my thumb through the pages. Fed up with an overtaxed workload and an undernourished spirit, he’s ready to give it all away and fly us both South for the winter. As per usual, the universe crossed my path with yet another cog on the verge of breakdown, just enough screws loose to see that maybe I’m not quite as crazy as the indoctors had previously diagnosed.
He’d built a career from the ground up and been ground down beyond the broken grains of Folgers in my french press, for a guy who only carries one bag I sure do pack an obscene amount of coffee paraphernalia. He brewed a bit about his contracting obligations, an overstocked housing crisis left him feeling less an emergency responder and more so a disposable tool of the elite. It’s hard to claim humanitarian when you’re installing a six thousand dollar porcelain throne.
Outstanding renovations earned him little applause and even less of a paycheck, seemed the wealthier his clientele the more loopholes they poked into his pockets. He was intrigued by my philosophy of home, hearth and early retirement, stock options far richer than any 401k could promise. Pretty much had him nailed down until his phone beckoned him back to realty, willing to increase his productivity by a dollar an hour, should at least cover the extra bottle it will take to numb his newfound feelings of being a free agent.
“Hey man, sorry about this but I gotta get turned around, I can drop you off here if you want, but we are kind of in the middle of nowhere, you think you’ll be alright?”
“No worries brother, I think I’m just where I need to be, good luck where you’re going though.”
Maybe next time he will make it past the guard towers of cellular interception.
*******
Good grief, this guy invents more words than Emmanuel Lewis. Alliteral run-ons confound the page and dull the senses, but every once in a while he actually does whittle it to a point.
Sharp wit and chivalry break out when a sleeved ace spurs the spades table into action, might as well buckle down for a long night of going nowhere fast, but probably get there before this joker gets picked up anyway...
*******
Middle of nowhere was accurate, maybe a wrong turn to Albuquerque but I don’t feel lost as I blend with an honest to God tumbleweed crawling across the dirt road ahead. Tattered plaids and a patchwork of corduroy weave my scarecrow into an earthtone environment, though I still appear to stand out whenever I’m tiptoeing through the colonized world. Clearly not from around here, even back home I am known as the friend from out of town, could be a minute so it’s a good thing I packed a few songs to keep me company.
One minute later the newest, nicest, extendedest pick-up picked me up on its maiden voyage, fresh off the lot and still decided to sweep up a dirt person, much depreciated. Another construction guy, this time the big cheese, hard to find help these days when a minimum quality of life is no longer worth breaking your back. Practically begged me to run a crew for him once he sniffed out my strong suits and realized the street rat could do stuff, I think I’m busy that day, but maybe for an extra dollar an hour.
First class guy by all accountants, tad too many letters of capital and P-words for my taste, but how else am I going to sit in the lap of luxury for the next hundred miles. Ample leg room for adequate conversation considering the radio silence of an iPhangled electroscreen that neither of us could hack
into. Somewhat of a local historian, he shared a rich backstory of a settled upon narrative, addressing ranch and commerce with little mention of any land before timeclocks, perhaps no native transplants were harmed in this western’s production.
I told him of the fun times at powwow, and my first rodeo, again with the plea for a steady hand as it seemed all those he depended on would reliably rather stay home with the family, now we will never hit our quota with this blatant disregard for other people’s priorities. A quaint reminder of my retirement coincided with the last stop of the gravy train, Santa Fe should be a short layover with the genuine care he put into selecting an optimal landing strip, in fact I hardly had a chance to assume the upright position before my next taxi swerved to the curb.
*******
Enthusiasm dwindles as lockdown sets in, the Chessman announces another victory while playing pawn for a larger game, exit strategies fester with every newsflash of impending doom. Two weeks notice plagues the zombies who hold the only key, the hive breaks out in laughter at second thoughts of an airtight case scenario. But for real though, what happens if third shift never shows.
Just people like the rest, any sense of superiority simply a placebo to get them through the day, it’s rather plausible that tomorrow’s justice never comes. And the cooks, and chaplains, and couldn’t a mass worker shortage affect the ball and chain supply? Concrete viewed windows of presumably unbreakable plexiglass, although given enough unsupervised probation the consensus is an easy out. Might be safer in the cage however, whole world is going to shit and at least the toilet paper’s complimentary...
*******
“Nice pants,” the teacher commended, “You make ‘em yourself?”
Indeed I had. Kept the last pair’s surviving thread count for when I inevitably burst from the seams, lipstick red, a size and shape to perfectly accompany the thigh-high vertical tears across my crocodile knees. It pays to be a do-it-your-seamster when you travel lighter than your own footprint, though I’m not sure where I’m supposed to pick up my check. Also, when a grown-ass man packs himself into figure fitting corduroys there’s a few tips to tuck away in the process: Pockets.
WTF! None of these pants have any pockets, what kind of dumb shit is this? And even if some do, odds are they’re just tiny little compartments hardly capable of containing a single token of change. Merely a stitched-on facade to give the slight illusion of elevated capacity, but pull back the curtain to reveal there was never a curtain to begin with.
I guess the same could be said of the cloaks that shroud the many menaces of modern society, hidden in plain sight as a lesser evil and normalized by the standard cost of living. A police state required to keep the peace, our privatized prisons punish the non-conformists, corporate media misinforms the masses, crooked politicians polarizing the aisles, border wars secure a brighter future, pharmaceutical cocktails prescribed to survive the stress of an all-American lifestyle featuring the overloaded menu of big agriculture’s supersized exploitation, but it was the greatest invention since pockets.
Any uncolonized community would find our conventional wisdom ludicrous, not a measure of their incivility but rather an old testament to the persuasive powers that be, generations of trickled propaganda convincing modern man that this is the way has to be. But don’t let my slanted perspective sway you, perhaps I’ve simply eaten a piece of the wrong fruit, definitely shouldn’t trust yet another sheep in women’s clothing.
Teach got it though, saw the allure in my way of life and sympathized with the struggles that have called me into action, sounded like he would have been right beside us back at camp but felt most needed as an influencer of tomorrow’s frontline.
An Earth-helper at home in his sanctuary of permaculture, weekends cultivating a food forested front yard to feed a need
of interconnectedness, an abundant wilderness untouched by a fallacy that humans aren’t an integral component of nature.
The natives knew it, didn’t even have a word to separate the two, they were so intimately entwined with the cycles of life that any thought of disconnection was as absurd as owning the Earth herself. Deeds of the colonial pen claimed discovery of an unadulterated Eden, a magical utopia inhabited only by the occasional savage scavenging whatever nuts and bolts they could find just randomly lying around. Certainly no trace left of any advanced civilization, nowhere near enough depleted resources to suggest inclusion of human superiority among the unwritten rule of the wild.
Waterways encased by a garden grove of edible bouquets, an unlimited buffet of flavor to meet the most manicured of diets, a lush landscape flushed down the drain as the flooded banks fill out the overflowing pockets of another dam energy pioneer. But hey, gotta love pockets, right?
Those indigenous to this land didn’t scrape by on scraps of leftovers, they tended a thriving cornucopia of nourishment that sustained millions of creatures throughout the millennia.
Built and maintained vast pathways of trade, fostered society that looked after its most vulnerable, all while inspiring the very democracy that our power structure is determined to tear down.
They weren’t huddled around the fire as they prayed for a savior, they were in communication with the Earth and spoke to her children, we were the ones who needed the saving. It’s quite comical to consider that an eternal database of worldly knowledge was some lucky guess of trial and error, they grew out of the planet and bloomed through a collage of intuition, an inherited ability that we all once had, and can have again given that we give up our rebellion of nature and rejoin the infinite harmony of our everloving mother.
*******
Words words words, too many words to say nothing at all, over and over and over and is anyone even listening? Anyone
who cares anyway? The few that pick up this garbage are the least that need convincing, nobody else that stumbles through this mess is going to actually hear it. Plant a tree, save a turtle, recycle your straws before a black hole sucks us all to hell, what’s the use of using less if we’re already destined to fail?
He puts down his predetermined pessimism and looks around the lot of lost boys, who would even be here if human survival was encouraged in the outside world? Yeah, some bad people do bad things, and good people do bad things, and bad people do good things, sometimes good people even do good things, and who’s to say the good things from the bad, and are bad things bad if they’re for the greater good?
Is stealing food to feed your family a bad thing? Is letting them starve? Is stealing wood good if it keeps the heat on you?
Or how about stealing a VCR, ain’t nobody using that thing anyway, what if it’s just to feed a bad habit you only picked up because society threw you away and assessed your self-worth as less than that of low-end consumer electronics? Is a charge as simple as the possession of a single substance really so evil that it calls for ruining another life? Or a family? Was there even a victim in the crime before the crime was invented?
Ten years in the penalty box, vagrancy violation, majority of minorities staff the labor camps that built this great nation, and now no vote in the matter so ‘our’ constitution allows the slavery to continue. Uh oh, prison’s full, it’s time to throw up another disenfranchise, but now it sits empty, housing crisis of too many big houses, better up our quota of overpopulated madness so our hardworking freemasons can have tighter job security.
Four percent of the globe but a quarter of the inmates, we are so bad, yet most non-violent, and another disproportion among the race to the chow line, not a statistic of wrongdoing but a wrongdoing of systemic failures. Should we not shame the profits of doom before blaming the victims we cast into an inescapable hole of perpetual lotion?
He smooths over his bunksheets as the ruffles lie down, is somehow this nonsense of caring creating an imagined act of getting up and doing something? Nah, couldn’t be, not he, but
maybe just maybe he could find the time to read into this third grade transcript a touch further...
*******
The bus was late for class so he dropped me at the college next door, educated guess that I would find fraternity among the wokest block in all of Albuquerque. My EAST COAST sign was finally felicitous, I-40 would take me the rest of the way, flipped the flap that labeled me as out of the box as they come and waited to synchronize pitstops with team Water Protector.
Horns and fists shared support from afar, each and every one warmed my engine as much as the homemade cookies they sent us back at camp, well maybe not quite as much, but still encouraged me to keep on cooking up the free world.
Downed the last swig of mni and sat on my bag to fill in a final corner of clues, eleven letters for contrived penmanship, twisted another chun and tried to live a life worth writing. A sticker-cluttered bug crawled within reach. She wished she had the time for a beach vacation but had a job and all that, offered anything else I might need, pulled out a wadded wallet but no thanks, I gave that bad habit up years ago. Though I would take a backseat bottle of water, seems if you only want what you need the universe takes pretty good care of you.
She was super nice and nearly in tears of gratitude for a total stranger, though in the circles I travel we know we’re all related. Sad to go as I watched her leave, picked my pack and walked a mile down the highway in search of greener asphalt.
Just get to Albuquerque I said, should be plenty of traffic and it’s a straight shot from there I said, there was plenty of traffic alright but plenty of refused street trash to boot, the passersby hardly batted an eye as every corner was littered with human waste.
Considered another change of venue when an old timer in an older truck pulled up, organic Spirit in the front seat, must be a sign, my kind of guy by all means but only headed out of town eleven miles, hmmmm... Thinking I’ll sit this one out,
looking for a long distance relationship, four hours later and maybe I made a mistake.
He was a fucking hippie, with rollies, why did I not hop in at least for a quickie? Yeah, it was only eleven miles, but I’m sure my next leg was already lined up from there, I caught a ride out in BFE, I think I’d have been just fine in the outskirts of nomadland, I cannot believe I missed that toss-up. I kicked myself down the road another exit on the unsolicited advice of a fellow vagabond, getting dark soon and I turned down the only time of day, who in their right mind would scoop up a crusty clown at this hour, though a right mind seems harder to come by as the night owls join the jamboree. Should probably find a dark alley to curl up for the night.
Remembered for a minute that I am not alone in the big city, I actually have a few Sun Dance relatives that live here, but I don’t have a phone, or even their numbers, or on second thought should I rethink my whole life unplan or something?
Maybe if I ever decide to crack another book I’ll write out a random run-in with an auntie in the red light district, pulls up nonchalant and is that, couldn’t be, OMG, it’s PJ, holaaaay!
You better come over for some piping hot frybread, bowl of soup, maybe some wojapi and damn this daydream is making me hungry.
No pay-as-you-please taco trucks tonight, but I did see a big ass Amazonian oasis across the four lane, cha-ching, found a perfect strip of tucked away trees to stash my sack and away we go.
Your average American tosses out twenty-four pounds of unwanted munchies a month, and considering that plenty go without, that means the well-to-dos waste even more. I once worked the set of a top rated chef show and tray after tray of catered crew meals hit the can when we wrapped, there was talk of a community kitchen that would gladly dish it out to the under-served if we could get it there, but that wasn’t in the budget with time being money and all.
In fact, producing produce is such lucrative business that if prices drop too low we simply burn the surplus and inflate the checkout line, during the Great Depression we slaughtered
more bacon than buffalo just to let it rot and spilled thousands of gallons of milk so we could skim the highest return, while people starved, let alone cried.
We only eat sixty percent of all we make, tons more gets held in escrow on the shelves of the selfish checkout, and at the unrefundable cost of the many indigenous ecosystems we commodify and hang out to dry as we shed the supermajority of siphoned water on our manmade food deserts. There’s no global food shortage, world hunger’s but a symptom of excess greed that justifies an even larger grift as generous celebrity spokespeople convince us to consume more than a fair share and ship it off to fight the good fight.
Unless I’ve spoken too soon, perhaps their predictive text was in reference to the increasing crop failures we’ve declined to take note of, fifty percent at this late stage of catastrophic denial. Trends of turbulence unconducive to a steady supply, ever changing weather patterns coupled with toxified soil, and water, and air, and public policy of minimized diversity as we loyally follow our monocult off the cliff.
Q: How far will we fall before we realize we’re not flying?
A: Should at least get us to the scene of the crash.
But who can even say which calamity will bite us first?
Even with a backup bushel of corn we’ve seen how vulnerable farm to table pipelines can be, anything from understocked microchips to overworked short people might impede the flow of dinner conversation faster than we can blame it on China.
And whichever cream does squeeze through the bottle’s neck is sure to fetch a premium price, gotta make up for all those perished profits somehow.
Now in the name of a fully disclosed tax return we should circle back to the intolerance of the whole milk debacle, it is much more complex than I’d originally let on, though equally as depressing. And yeah, for sure some farmers actually did spill out milk to force up the price, but they were going hungry just like everyone else, while the USDA capped the price of a pint at pennies regardless of all those hardworking cows.
Dairies couldn’t continue at this rate, so they organized, farmers weren’t milking the system for corporate greed, they were on strike. An act of civil disobedience that culminated in armed guards defending the decisions of political agronomics.
A department designed to keep our civilization’s agricultural hierarchy intact, far less focus on a balanced power structure than they’d have you believe.
In fact, turns out this continent already had a pretty solid case study on the geometry of nutrition, and remarkably they did it without a daily double dose of dairy or an oversaturated gluten intolerance. Both proponents of phlegm buildup and inflammation, the primary source of dis-ease according to a globeful of of ancient health nuts, yet we knew the risks too as we preached our daily bread. Already strung our own people out on a colonial diet of discomfort and pain management, but the natives were superior to us in speed and stamina, and sure, sugar and smallpox took their toll, though we also introduced wheat to swell their dwindling numbers and in no time we find a docile population lounging on buffalo hide sofas.
Fake foods make us sick, it is no secret among those who profit from a complacent working class, plus they have a cure to cram down your throat if you need any further subduction.
Anything to stop us from rising up, separated anxieties to keep us at war with one another and blind to the power we have to end them, but it is all crumbling down around us and they will need more than a pill to keep it up. It is vital to know where your food comes from, and the supermarket’s not the answer, especially not once it’s not.
Eat close with the Earth and as local as possible, nurture relationships within the food cycle, learn how to prepare and preserve, how to hunt and peck, figure out how to forage like tonight’s feast of discarded decadence.
I mean, it was a completely ridiculous display of indulged extravagance, an oceanfront spectacular in downtown New Mexico, gauged by some obscure monetary scale it was over a hundred dollars of seafood smorgasbord. And yeah, from a dumpster, so what? It was only three minutes after closing time and plenty cool outside to keep, I’d just watched them
drop it off on their way out the door, ten minutes ago it had been on the shelf and overpriced for the bourgeoisie. Three shrimp cocktails, two crab cakes, and a slab of straight up raw tuna, probably not sushi grade and I considered an urban campfire, but nah, I just ate that shit up. So good.
*******
Heebie jeebie, and somehow he’s the one lumped in here with the scum of the Earth, double bagged and tagged and no chance of getting sorted out. First glance turns his nose but another whiff of tonight’s tasteless entree intrigues a second thought, he could just as easily be convinced that this meal replacement had also been composed of rubbish but without the nutrient richness of recently retired opulence. This could hardly pass as edible, perhaps not even eatable, a disability to choke down another ounce of facsimilated freshness, he can’t imagine it would satisfy even the substandard bars imposed by the infamed USDA.
Some trade away their tray in favor of ramen and Cheetos, three dollars apiece for those with connections on the outside, a closed market for a markup beyond the socially accepted. A rickety racket but nobody’s listening, they’re all criminals and quite frankly deserving of everything they don’t get, up to and including the basic fundamentals of life, but then again do any of the non-guilty actually get a fair shot at freedom either.
Economic sanctions that force breadwinners to prioritize which necessities they afford, skimping quality subsistence for a minimal existence, name brand this and the rest will have to be the cheap stuff, a bottom shelf survival barely capable of scraping by, and no headspace free enough for considering the ecological impact of day old baloney clogging up their gut.
Nope, it seems the more he mulls it over, the more he is getting down with the garbage man...
*******
Survived the night without the upset of eruption, scored a free coffee to settle any doubt and reminded my readers of the importance of carrying your own cup. Straight ahead stares unwilling to spare even a single sideways glance, more cracked windows than smiles, perhaps if we pretend they don’t exist the prophecy will self-fulfill. Most move on, but a chosen few redeem my faith in believers, goodwill extends a folded five, again I plead not to beg me to succumb to the handout.
I most thoroughly enjoy my sixty second relationships as I have the open eyes of a dedicated listener, onlookers assume I’m deep in my grift but those I have the pleasure of speaking with drive away unburdened by a heavy chest of lost hope.
Each one its own moment in time though with a fairly even consistency, their origami outreach makes the introduction, I assure my new acquaintance that I’m all tapped out on pocket space, they insist that I take notes, and now I get the chance to share a bit of my free love with an old friend. Removing the exchange of money truly does invite an unparalleled sincerity to each and every transaction it no longer weighs down.
Most aren’t really ready to really hear my entire spiel and anti-everything rant, so I’ve gotten good at quickly assessing their current level of undoctrination and dropping in a few tidbits as their wheels keep on turning. Projects or prayers or propaganda, a mutually assured destruction of preconceived motions, I’m not in need of much help, just a ride to the next awesome chapter, more often than not they find their pitystop transformed into a yearning to give up the grind and join me in real life. Then they frantically dig around for something to gift me back, normally a snackpack they had planned for their own stalled out afternoon, and we’re talking good stuff, like a big bag of cashews or the last Snickers bar, I ate far better without cash in Albuquerque than I had atop capital mountain all winter long.
Also got my fair share of sneers and jeers and get-a-jobs, those that exclaim disdain from a moving vehicle, no intention of discussing our differing philosophies of life lest I prove to be the hardest working homeless person they have ever met.
Luckily I don’t demand the approval of judgement to justify
my own right of way, but then they managed to pull one over on me, tossed a Jesus book at top speed toward my direction, I bent over to clean up their litter only to find a fiver marking a page of assumed significance. Considered grabbing a cheap pack of smokes but landed on removing temptation quicker than the original sin, flagged down the next bad apple I saw and bewildered their wide eyes as I passed the offering their way, gotta take the book too though. Ten minutes later they cruised back by with a fresh handful of cigs, and to think I’d almost taken the bait.
The problem with eating well is mounting pressures on the backend, wouldn’t be of concern if emergency evacuation routes didn’t require paid permission, shouldn’t public policy of peeing free be more accepted than the much more common indecency of exposed excrement? Gross, as is the nonexistent access to water for anyone who doesn’t carry plastic. Free to Nestle and Monsanto but dangled just out of reach of the least desired denomination, couldn’t find a single spigot to fill my cup for a quick fix of instant gratification. I did find a free six inch, left in the shrubs by a gracious underachiever, could just as easily squandered the oversized portion but looked out for the little guy. Thank you.
Of course I am the only one I know who feels conflicted about my right to scavenge the shredded dignity. I’m here by choice and with enough life advantages to know I am merely passing through, so what if my scooping up this free meal is at the cost of whoever’s table would be called next? Conundrums unconcerned by most, although rather relevant to whichever regular normally claims this block.
I ate it, because I was hungry, but I also take the greatest consideration for those no one else considers, except maybe for the angel who left the sandwich in the first place. But I don’t empty the bin unless I need it the most or if it’s obvious that it won’t last, and I’m always the first to pass forward my secondhand menu, there will be more for me down the road somewhere. Aww, what a gentleman.
*******
So now dumpster dude is throwing mad guilt for a white trash privilege he suggested in the first place, what kind of gaslit gibberish is this? But it is true about the evil eyes from the good hearted judge and jury, self-assured that they had no problem finding a fit through the open doors of their heirloom wardrobe, so why should anyone else struggle to make sense in this sunshine daydream?
Just strap your boots up and jump to work, you’ve been living for free so who cares about a living wage, hell we even did it as teens back in our good old days. A fair shake of your tailfeathers should get you locked up into a mortgage, more houses than homeless so plenty to go around, trust us we have three. A great investment in the future collapse, returning skyrockets explode the market while bank pens are chained to a minimum, guess the laws of supply and demand hold little influence over evictions. But get out of our sight and mind, you’re cluttering our view of reality, can’t we just ship you off on some vacation getaway to loiter the parking lot of someone else’s paradise?
But no escape from the whip in here either, duty calls the cooks and cleaners, beats the boredom of another bound-up alibi. But this is the recruitment office, temp agency with less employment opportunity than the final destination of long term parking, corporate takeover promotes the next stop as the last. Most eagerly anticipate their transfer to permanent pinstripes, a wider variety of distraction and somehow more freedom behind bigger bars, here the micromanagers of small town politics stick their fingers in places they don’t belong.
Libraries of real books and college equivalents, a choice of religions or a religious opposition to them, green thumbs and brown noses, plenty of routes out of your head and many ways of climbing the ladder to heaven. A subtle dichotomy drawn between an underworked imagination and a right to work for the state position, profession of love for systems of indentured servitude akin to the unappreciated tokens of a company store.
From slaves to serfs to servants and back to slaves again, the only choice the poison by whose hand retirement is forced, and
in here slavery is literally a billable right according to the thirteenth amendment of the poverty owner’s constitution…
*******
Stitched up in hard times.
Pennies on the dollar
for the white collar
of a concrete wall street,
Private pensions fund the factory farm as hedged bets chase another’s losses.
Chief financial officer of the law.
Executive decisions grant the execution of an unwarranted search and seizure.
A preexisting condition prohibits any evidence of prosecutorial wrongdoing.
Busted by the union of labor pains and long hours, seems they’ve finally found a workforce willing to bend over and take it like a real man.
*******
Hard lessons driven home, I amend my own constitution with a single line of subtext, ‘ Every Mile Counts.’ Hereafter committed to jumping on every bone thrown my way, if they feel called to take me for a ride then who am I to refuse their service. A pep in my step as I dance down the median with a medium assurance that today is my day, a bag and a bedroll save my seat but the most sacred a set of four notebooks from the last time I tried this, sure would be a shame to lose grasp of the plot. A truckload of young bucks inquise my intended
whereabouts, sorry pal but good luck, next stop a rental figure headed straight to Boston, wicked awesome.
Long haul to recalibrate a projected pathway, the cosmic tour guide sets up a date with destiny but gives us the free will to turn it down, then it gets wrapped right back up into a neat little package over again until eventually even I can’t be so thick headed as to screw it up.
Don’t underestimate me.