When driving through America, I like to look at the houses next to the highway. Some are pre-fab, most have chain-link fences or no fences. There are usually a lot of cars out front, which makes me think people are home. Why are they out here so far? I think of a handle of vodka or rum. Do they get the Internet? Oh. That house has a black lab sitting on the porch. I kinda envy their view of the mountains. How much are they are paying to live there: $100/month? $250? Do they own the land? There's so, so, so, so, so, so much land. It's covered in blonde grass. There are deer with little white butts and tails. Beautiful little deer. "Hey, did you see the deer?" I ask.
Because of puddles after hail, our car fishtailed and turned a 360 going diagonally across the freeway. We were going 75. There were no cars around. We did not flip. The cops were pretty nice. We fucked up our bumper, but drove away. My back hurts a little. But, it always hurts a little.