I have driven for eight hours through traffic accidents, wind advisories, rain, and crank addled truckers. I'm two clicks past the Do Long bridge and there are most certainly "gooks on the wire" as the young man from the Bronx once uttered. Geese everywhere you look. Water water everywhere and oh yes, I'd love a drop or three to drink. Ducks. Flights of ducks and then someone says "plate" or "plate of dead ducks" and the whole sorry hallucination starts all over again.
There are more ducks here then I know what to do with and I am going to try to kill as many of them as I can. I must get on tonight. I must get a winning lottery number tonight. I must be allowed to fulfill my destiny! (Extra hot sausage if you know where that comes from.) It is raining something ugly and I was advised not to go to the white trash bar in town. I don't know that there is a correlation between these facts but I thought it safest to mention them both in the same breath. Just in case.
Willows, CA: a one horse town if ever I've seen one. And I have. Par for the course I'll dine on Mexican food as they are generally the only people who can cook when you're in the middle of nowhere California. Sacramento seems far away and exotic. San Francisco doesn't actually exist here. It's like saying you ride a unicorn. It occurs to me my name might not be very popular here. It also occurs to me I'm armed to the teeth. Hear on the radio: "Why do people think freedom of religion means we have to accept these other religions? We can't! We're Catholic!" Note to self: never get out of the boat. Absolutely goddamn right.
It's time. It's time to go out and win that fucking lottery and get a goddamned good blind.
Peace out, bitches!