Toothpaste and Pine Trees
They embark west, on their summer holiday, somewhere in the potato state, somewhere where only the coyotes sing louder than A Prarie Home Companion. Where a morning walk might involve strapping on boots and a ski jacket or sunshades and mushrooms. Best of all is the roadtrip. I wonder if they woke up this morning much like I did as a child, the constant presure of a father figure irrationaly yelling at them, oh-no-you-didn't-buy-ice-for-the-cooler, aren't-you-ready-yet-quick-it's-getting-late, we'll-get-it-on-the-way-out-of-town. More like, no-fucking-way-my-licence-is-still-suspended-we-fixed-that-last-year-in-Larimie. Jennie-get-to-42nd-street-NOW.
Smoking cigarettes, half the price you pay in the city, breakfast special $2.99, served anytime. Meeting the local flavor Desmoines, Asscratch, and Laramie. One hundred miles will seem like nothing to them, they'll have it done by lunch.
Drive safely Sara.