It's been a journey of sorts. This year. On the road. Everyday it seems there's another fucking flat and the rubber on the tire is my soul. I mean, I'm not grey haired yet, but the tires do need changing. And so I put another set on; Good for 100,000 miles.
"I don't know if I'm depressed or just surrounded by assholes," reads a T-shirt in Daytona Beach. Understanding the past goes into every day of my future - I wonder if I'll appreciate life more by hating myself less. Or, is it the other way around? And will it fit on a T-shirt?
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