Road Trip: Intro.

What if we’re both wrong?

What if every time you and I speak there are actually four of us in the room?
What if we carry our mothers on our backs like coal? Or like a marine’s backpack? Mittens, goggles, survival knife, snowshoes, rations, helmet, tarpaulin, first aid kit, sleeping bag, water bottle, canteen...

This hostage wants to stay still. This hostage is not Patty Hearst.
(It’s a road trip, fucktard, she says: a road trip.)

We set off from childhood and reached maturity: just in time to see the truth before we fell back into the pain of being: not quite old enough.

This hostage wants to stay still. This hostage is not Patty Hearst.
(It’s a road trip, fucktard, she says: a road trip.)

There are times my rage belongs to you. There are more times it belongs to me, to all the swallowed emotion and all the loss and all the frustration and all the guilt and the typos and the disappointing takeaways.

This hostage wants to stay still. This hostage is not Patty Hearst.
(It’s a road trip, fucktard, she says: a road trip.)