Don't pin the "world's best traveler" on me. Keep it away. Put that on somebody who isn't going to crack apocalyptic stress on your wagon. When exploring new territory, I have a terrible habit of making a wrong turn. It's an innocent move, just wanting to see where the other way goes but then the the view changes and not for the better. The sights are no longer interesting. The immediate area becomes empty. Imagine going to Las Vegas but instead of bright lights and busy streets, in its place is a labyrinth of dark, dingy alleyways. Familiarity is comforting, is it not? Even a view of Starbucks isn't so bad, for in that place life gathers, guaranteed. After getting lost for so long, chain restaurants embody oases in the desert barren. Ahh, the Golden Arches! Thanks for waving "hello" you freaky-looking clown. I would like some large fries, thank you.
Yes, I did walk empty in Vegas. A similar thing happened in Hawaii. But I was on foot in these past occasions and thus my connection with life was not hampered by a 4-wheeled enclosure. When you're stepping on the sidewalk, you can still hear the birds sing. A few nights ago I found myself behind the wheel of an inconvenient expedition. No, I didn't have to eat anybody's tits off but the fright certainly was there.
It was a night drive, a ride west. The street was at first well-lit and inviting. Interesting stores dotted both sides of the road, not just chains but local joints as well. A sushi place. An adult bookstore - they had a sale going on. What I found most provocative were the furniture stores. During the day they're great fun to be in, an enormous persistent living room where good families equals good furniture equals a splendid comfort for the mind. To see these at night are an even better treat. The big store windows gave a magnificent view. All the lamps were lit. Couches and beds and tables all sat in the glow of warm 40 watt light bulbs. The vision continued, of tender time spent with the family gathered around the fireplace, untouched by the cold moon. I wanted to walk in that store and simply sit. Then I got lost.
It all started at Santa Clara University, no less, a punch in the face of the stupidity that defines me. A college kid, I am not. That big-ass stone sign may as well have been a hammer to crush me and my feeble attempt to be a part of this world. The more I live outside this yellow room, the smaller I get, it seems. The streets became dark. The stores disappeared. The nothing became apparent. A business park lingered in the shadows with no lights in the windows, no life. The graveyard-shift grind of industry groaned on. Menacing silhouettes of towering, metallic structures threatened the sky; at the end of each stinking fist, never-ending smoke puffed and polluted, polluted and puffed. A streetlight flickered. It flickered off and did not return. I do not like this place.
I did find a way out but not without the feeling of dread. The drive back to east side was a relief. Still, I don't like driving. There was poem I heard before entering into prick's English class. (GATE, MAGNET, big brain types) It spoke of staying in the backseat because a person is afraid to take the charge of being upfront. I don't like being the driver. Call that whatever it is. I don't claim to know the better path, it's just a different one and like many things strange to us, it might get scary. Those poor Donners found that out freeze-dried and eaten. Should we adventure together, I implore you, please take the reins, or we might end up somewhere nowhere.
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