Roots

So, at the moment, I'm only a block away from the house I was originally brought home to as a newborn -- Mesquite, Texas.

And it feels good. It really does. Feels familiar, like it just "fits".

But I digress.

With my brand new alternator, I rolled out of West Memphis at 2pm with M. Ward blastin'. (That is, I was playing M. Ward loudly on my stereo. He was not, in fact, in my passenger seat carrying out the "shooting" part of a drive-by shooting.)

That last paragraph came to me at the very beginning of the day, and I've been waiting to write it down ever since. I'm not sure it plays, and consequently, I was too busy thinking about that all day to take in much else.

Not much else to say. It was an uneventful leg of the trip, which was most welcomed.

Tomorrow, though. Tomorrow, I go through West Texas. I don't need to tell you that West Texas is not only boring, but also terrifying.

So, I won't tell you. I'll let Anton tell you instead:

Needless to say, if anyone asks me to get out of my car, I will not. Not at all.

[Lord, I'm a fool for a lonesome train]