It was a cold bastard of a night when we left Worcester, Mass. Five tired, young men cramped in a blue box flying down the highway to god knows where. Spirits high, hunger low, and a desperate craving to fly south as fast as we could, so the next day would be a little less blistering.
It didn't take long for the claws to come out. Conversations about the past and present, bouncing back and forth like a damn ping pong ball. Planned for the future. Stopped for a piss break. Slim Jims and pound cake. The breakfast of champions. Back on the road again trying to get out of New York fast as we could. One dismembered deer later, we knew we were in Jersey. Welcome.
Pennsylvania is a bitch of a drive. Lot of nothing in between nothing. I have come to the educated conclusion that long ago, the founding fathers put a broken compass under the Liberty Bell and told everyone where north was. They lied. Couldn't let the limeys at their hidden Yank treasure. Seems like so-called "north" is a good forty-five degrees off. Maybe the Amish got bored and decided to play a low-tech prank. Crafty bastards. Heading to find a place to crash, before we fucking crash.
Sweet home Alabama,
rickie-d
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