Mjarc
I put 500 miles on my body today. Not necessarily on my car, more on my mind. I just drove all day long, from Bloomtown to Chicago to Indianapolis to Bloomtown. I stopped places. I ate food. I picked up packages, and delivered packages, but the majority of my day was spent in a 2000 GMC Safari van driving. I'm a driver. I had a lot of time to think. I had a lot of time to belt out Saves the Day tunes, until my throat hurt. I had a lot of time to figure out what I'm going to bring with me to Vegas. I had a lot of time to think about how little I'm going to bring back with me from Vegas.
To be honest, I'm not expecting to make it out of that city alive. I have this terrible feeling that something awful is going to happen to me there. What could it be? I don't know. I'm thinking anything from your standard stick-up to a pirate attack outside of Treasure Island. Maybe I'll trip and fall off the Hoover Dam.
I've been having strange dreams about planes lately. People keep giving me dirty looks, and flight attendants keep forgetting to get me pop after they ask me what kind I would like. My headsets never work, and my seatback never adjusts. I'm always sitting next to larger than average people, and they always smell. Last year, flying was second nature. It was how I was able to make a living, but that's all changed. I'm not scared to go on a plane, I'm just apprehensive. I'm not worried that the planes I fly are going to get hijacked or crash, I just don't want to do it. I just don't want to physically get on a plane. I'd rather drive, to tell the truth. I want to make my way through the Rocky Mountains in my little Honda, and I don't want to take the interstates. I want to take the mountain passes that take me from Colorado Springs to Durango, and south into New Mexico.
One of these days, I'm going to be a wealthy man, and I'm going to charter a train to take me from coast to coast and back again over the span of a few years. Once I think we've hit a spot that looks nice, I'm going to tell the conductor to stop the train, let me out, and roam around for a few weeks. Who am I going to have to kill to get that kind of money? I don't know. But I'm sure it'll happen someday.
I put 500 miles on my body today. Not necessarily on my car, more on my mind. I just drove all day long, from Bloomtown to Chicago to Indianapolis to Bloomtown. I stopped places. I ate food. I picked up packages, and delivered packages, but the majority of my day was spent in a 2000 GMC Safari van driving. I'm a driver. I had a lot of time to think. I had a lot of time to belt out Saves the Day tunes, until my throat hurt. I had a lot of time to figure out what I'm going to bring with me to Vegas. I had a lot of time to think about how little I'm going to bring back with me from Vegas.
To be honest, I'm not expecting to make it out of that city alive. I have this terrible feeling that something awful is going to happen to me there. What could it be? I don't know. I'm thinking anything from your standard stick-up to a pirate attack outside of Treasure Island. Maybe I'll trip and fall off the Hoover Dam.
I've been having strange dreams about planes lately. People keep giving me dirty looks, and flight attendants keep forgetting to get me pop after they ask me what kind I would like. My headsets never work, and my seatback never adjusts. I'm always sitting next to larger than average people, and they always smell. Last year, flying was second nature. It was how I was able to make a living, but that's all changed. I'm not scared to go on a plane, I'm just apprehensive. I'm not worried that the planes I fly are going to get hijacked or crash, I just don't want to do it. I just don't want to physically get on a plane. I'd rather drive, to tell the truth. I want to make my way through the Rocky Mountains in my little Honda, and I don't want to take the interstates. I want to take the mountain passes that take me from Colorado Springs to Durango, and south into New Mexico.
One of these days, I'm going to be a wealthy man, and I'm going to charter a train to take me from coast to coast and back again over the span of a few years. Once I think we've hit a spot that looks nice, I'm going to tell the conductor to stop the train, let me out, and roam around for a few weeks. Who am I going to have to kill to get that kind of money? I don't know. But I'm sure it'll happen someday.
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