Okay, so we went to New Jersey to fetch a storage unit full of stuff. I could give details, but won't, only the minor thrilleramas. Like say crossing the river on the Tappen Zee Bridge. I know for most people this represents the daily slog but for me there really exists a feeling of Bifrost, bridge to Asgard. The bridge over the canal that my family took, heading towards Provincetown, always was a magic moment/memory.
We left civilization a scosh late, near 1 pm. At Someplace, CT, we partook an early dinner that boasted every indication of breakfast. Usually enough, when we travel, Beth heads towards breakfast while I conjure burgers. This time, I went all breakfasty (the time was around 3:00 or so). The specific restaurant (in CT), was Cracker Barrel. Safe Harbour. I am honestly touched by the sign at the entrance saying no matter what race creed colour, etc, you are welcome. It's the sort of value-packed declaration that companies make. I dunno if CB has had Denny's sort of bad moments, but I appreciate the getting it in writing palm open.
We arrived Sunday eve just a scosh past close liquor stores. After the hotel embrace, including a demanding $100 hold on the credit card for "incidentals", as if Keith Moon had joined us, we went next door to Longhorn Steakhouse for a smackerel of wine.
Monday meant picking up the lucky truck to transport all the all. The offered truck featured fully evident leaky roof. I had roused before 6 am that morn to darkling clouds and whipping wind. Some pittance later sloshing rains. Beth haggled for a better carrier, that being one that had just gone elsewhere, and could be retrieved. This equation meant a somewhat late start at the loading process. That finalized around 6:00.
NJ I must say must be the first example. The possibility that so many people can exist on so fragile a framework seems completely imaginary. NJ is just ahead of the curve, but the tonnage of dissupporting vehicles and mercantile extremism just seems empirically emptying on this stage of sand near ocean. Logic simply says so. We are talking sand castles.
After the much lifting/moving, some of us felt like whoa, I'm like wow = tired. We procured wine and beer, then included dinner. Apres diner, well, it seems Comedy Channel offered South Park.
South Park has soul, and tender, and its advance into inappropriate is oddly warm and subtle. I have not watched it religiously, but it always seems fresh. I especially liked the Towelie character. I cannot explain the appeal of this stoned towel.
Journey home included a stop at Buffalo Wild Wings. Our entrance to the place was like grandpa and grandma got lost. Thumping music, but just ice cream for the asshole age. Not scared yet.
One wall had a ridiculously over-sized tv screen. A college football game. Lo def, with the image scrunged up. All around were normaller tvs featuring that game, or a chatter about sports events, or a fishing show.
The waiter was a youngster who wasn't somehow prepared for anyone who was, like, hey you know what I mean. I don't mean this against him, someone should have told him that creaky vessels might hit harbour. Attempt mooring, that is. He was earnest, but when Beth ordered hot tea, he arrived with an iced tea tall glass full of hot water, and a teabag. Beth helped sort him out that one.
Just from the menu, the wings sounded disappointing and expensive. I just wanted food. The menu descriptions were plangent in laying bacon, honey bbq sauce, chipotle, extra cheese, glop, glop, on a bun. I'm not vegan but it just seemed oppressive. The perimetre of intent seemed to exist solely in cholesterol.
The prime dollop of curious consternation came after the unloaded truck. Brought to lovely Lowell, we found a deserted gas station. A note on the door indicated that we leave paperwork in the vent hole of the garage. This gas station has a pump offering gas at something like $1.60 a gallon. Except the pumps are marked deceased. The garage itself is loaded with trash and junk. One window is boarded up. You can hear a radio playing. I later mentioned a weird gas station in Lowell and the person immediately said Middlesex St. Yup. Beth yawped with the proprietor, there being a deposit to reckon. He delivered it to our door but still, the curious condition of Lowelness. It is something to study. Kerouac came from Lowell, if that makes it easier.
And I just don't know how to hold this stuff, both precious and rank. We have a funny, odd world to defend. Please care about caring.