What’s wrong with me?
What’s wrong with me?
What’s wrong with me?
None of your goddamn business.
See how we also

***

Waking up, it occurred to me that looking at land in Apache County is just the latest attempt to answer the question of where “The Hell Out Of The Way” is.

Subsequently, I thought: I could do most of that cheap land parking bit in my driveway in SandRock, too. With no worries about gas mileage or septic tanks, and less worry about cash running out before September. It would be a tinhorn, nickel-plated, and admittedly ugly way to live; it would be a deferral of dreams that might amount to a denial if things went really badly. It would also be field-testing with no real pressure.

Is the same little slab of concrete where I stopped being a professor a good enough Out Of The Way for a while? I’ll keep thinking.

“‘Cause now fires and rock houses and grape-flavored rat poison are the new trinity for this so-called community.”

But hey baby. It’s the 4th of July in the land of the free.

***