June 22, 2001
on the road, racing at 85 mph away from myself, or at least a former self. difficult to write at such speeds, but much too easy to think. looking out at I-80 and wondering who built these barbed-wire fences that line every mile of highway. if I prefer the thin air, even if it has to struggle in my lungs. that v is on a plane right now; I think I'll never see him again. A roadsign: TRUCK PARKING--NO FACILITIES. curious: the sun is brighter when reflected off the windshields of oncoming cars than in my rearview mirror.