But where’s home?
Back in the old stomping grounds for four days so far and all the reasons I decided to bugger off have loomed large. I’ll be damned happy to put that long stretch of interstate between me and the neighborhood at the end of the week. It’s better for the brainpan.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, hopefully the electric that worked even though it wasn’t actually connected is being installed as we speak. Hopefully the refrigerator which sorta didn’t work is still unplugged or the breaker’s off so it’s not chilling the place with the door hanging open. Hopefully there will still be a nascent home to go back to.
But if not, I wouldn’t lose anything desperately important except my complete series of Transmetropolitan and surely eBay can come to the rescue once again.
What I wouldn’t give to be able to go down the street to Sam’s, ogle some mind-bogglingly attractive Vanderbilt girls, drink a few pints and watch whatever the sport du jour is. Instead it’s probably Damon’s and what passes for a bed at HoJo’s.
It’s like going home to Mom and Dad’s and having to eat cold chinese and sleep in the backyard. I wanna go to new home.