Dog truck big blue chair
Nissan was wrong dog's hate trucks, especially mine.
The trip back to SF (t-minus 1,145 miles to go), only I'm caravanning with Jodie, to meet Alycia in Victor, Idaho. The 200 miles out of the way I hadn't seen Alycia in four years; the three of us plus Christine all lived together, in Denver, the summer after I graduated. If you put the first letter of each of our names together it spelled JACK, and we lived on Humboldt, so that was our name. The answering machine would announce in a burly, gruff voice. "You've reached Jack Humboldt, you know what to do." Everyone knew us, we had the finest parties, and in the morning we’d draw the shades, watch Mae West and eat pizza, all four of us on the couch, until our hangovers were manageable. Alycia had moved to Idaho with her girlfriend to start Grove Creek Lodge a venture which to me seemed almost as crazy as her leaving for St. Petersburg, Russia for a year to learn Russian.
Jodie and I had made it to Rock Springs, before I began swerving, it was 2am and we had another 6 hours to go. Re-entering cell phone range I called the blinking taillights in front of me.
"I need to stop."
"Okay, there's a Comfort Inn.”
I lay there four hours, on a bed which smelled like bleach and smoke, not able to be too be comfortable let the gas station coffee, finally take effect.
6:05 am