If you ever fall asleep
on the roof of a Cyberbuss, laughing about how you're at the same height
as the rooftops of the relentless ranch house sprawl of Los Angeles,
may you not awake to the words "But I thought it never rains in
L.A....." I tried to wait out the rain as long as I could,
wrapping myself in my tent tarp, but at some point the foot of my sleeping
bag snuck out and was soon enough soaked.
and then Mexico at last,
Mexico at last, Mexico at last. And none too soon, since
an argument was underway about whether it is acceptable to eat your
snot after you pick it. (I was of the opinion that while there's
absolutely nothing wrong with a little recreational pick, eating it
is a little much.)
No one was surprised when
we were pulled over at the border crossing and "interrogated"
by a local nose picker.
Our inquisitor asked us
insinuatingly "what do you have in the roof compartment?"
Tents, sleeping bags, backpacks.....
He pointed at this
and that, then begrudgingly allowed The Buss to pass, but declared we'd
each have to get a tourist visa or something like that.
He didn't even allow us
our one phone call on the baffling Mexican payphone.