Day 21, The Presidential Day

Four thirty is a great time of day. If it’s in the afternoon. The light from my phone alarm beamed down on me from on high, piercing my woolly-headed dreams and slapping my consciousness on its baby-bare arse. I say on high because it was hanging there in the air. Suspended in the darkness. A result of me suddenly discovering that the mesh thing hanging from the roof of my tent was actually a shelf to put things on. I love this tent. Sighing, I slid out of my sleeping bag and trudged over through the darkness of the campground …

Day 20, The Doddle Day

When I opened my eyes, I felt a little lost. Foreign. Not myself. It was still dark in the room. Shapes and unfamiliar noises. And me, snuggled in my sleeping bag on top of the bed. My throat was sore and scratchy from the air conditioning. Turns out that was the least of my problems. Feet out of the bag. Swung to the side. Sat up. I felt ill. Bad food ill. What did I eat last night? What, in this neighborhood of rundown shops and decrepit dream-killing buildings, did I find to eat? I spied the cup sitting on …