I’m sitting in Econo Lodge room #219 somewhere west of Harrisburg, PA. It’s wicked late. And I’m completely thrashed. Which sucks, ‘cuz there’s so much I wanted to tell you…
Like how just moments onto I-78, staring down the barrel of my second 1200+ mile road trip in as many weeks, I thought to myself, “What the fuck are you doing?”
Like how lame my silver rent-a-Taurus is. (You have seen “Flirting With Disaster,” right?) Like how everything slipped into slow-motion on the highway, and I passed over the silver reflectors like a dream. And I was blinking to see straight.
Like how the sky is inky-black outside of New York City. And I could see Orion.
Like how Amanda at the Econo Lodge front desk said, “New York City, huh? That’s so cool. Do you work near the TRL building?” And I said, “I work in the TRL building.” And she was flabbergasted. And we talked some more, and I handed her my CD and said, “You get yourself there and I’ll get you into TRL.”
Like how fun it was to walk across the parking lot to Duffy’s Holiday Inn Lounge to talk about the weather over a pint of Yuengling.
Like how absolutely, positively excellent it was to get back in room #219 and have my cell phone ring.
Like how I gave Kurt Loder my CD and he emailed me to say, “I’m only on the first cut, but it sounds good.” Kurt Fucking Loder.
But I’m just to damned tired.
P.S. I’ll spell check tomorrow. I promise.
P.P.S. My phone is on vibrate for you. XO…