How do I pronounce you?
Either way, here we are.
Oh, desolate desert town,
Ghosts of Route 66 how you now roam these hallow, yet all too hollow filling stations and motels and tiki lounges, along
With the shells of OD that stand
Flaying on street corners,
Scourges of society fill your void,
Stoping by the Circle K, if only to say, “Hey! Wassup girl?” to the cashier with the pierced nose and the spooky eyes. “Cash only,” she says, the storm took everything out: gas, credit cards, lights.”
Thank goodness the ATM was back on, after that “tornado” that hit not so far away, said the local girl behind me. I believe it was true,
As a mighty gust of wind blew grit into my hair and into the car and blasted a thousand bbs at me, so fierce I was truly afraid it would rip the door off the car. So, I ran back in, slammed the door, deciding my neon sign photo trek was over: I don’t need no trouble, I’ve got my family back at the Road Runner Motel. Time to go back to my home away from home and to get ready for a full day of regenerative learning and soil and fun at Ranch Quay.