Good to be racing across the continent, this time lunging from overpass to speed trap aboard a vinyl-clad bus filled with Cinco de Mayo dropouts and a few towering hats. Do we need to attract more attention? The sun flares through the pines causing my troubled image to reflect off the dull glass. I didn’t know I scowled so authoritatively. I should remember to face the sun before making any further trouble.
Most of my possessions have been either gifted to my younger siblings or shoved deep into a storage vault filled with skeletons, skulls, clowns, and old synthesizers. I’m travelling light as a rule, now down to 50 lbs in one large pelican case, and another carryon filled with power bricks and connecting cables. I feel like a scientist.
Thirty-two miles out of Beaumont a strange whine from the ventilation duct (it was always there). I’ve got a few hours before Houston, a night of staging, walking the wide sidewalks of Deer Park, then to a small aircraft, into the mesmerizing bosom of Los Angeles, to Hawaii (a twenty-hour layover), to Seoul, then a train down to Gye Ryong.
The bus pulls ahead of the drunken traffic, over a muddy brown river, past an oversized star, symbol of the rebel state. Good to be flowing past her again.