I'm weaving my tiny economy car among and around these rolling edifices here in the land of big trucks. Tractor trailers grunt cargo around from place to place, the raw materials from which hard, cold reality is bolted together, boulders and trusses and giant felled trees. Stalwart, starched right-wing males roar around in metal monsters that look like some fearsome cross between a pickup and a craggy mountain, talking business on Bluetooth headsets as they sip hot, black coffee like tar and scroll with their thumbs on their smartphones through stock tickers. Buxom women with painted skin and painted hair shoulder phones to their ears and sip fat-free white mocha as they charge obliviously forward behind the wheels of leather-upholstered rumble tanks. And here I am among them – both hands on the wheel – maneuvering my little economy car under and over and between the hulks, just trying to make it out alive. It's fun, if you put the terror out of your mind. I turn up my subversive music and secure my seatbelt. I don't know where I'm going, but you cannot stop me from getting there.
Hello, friends. I trust you're well.
Later. Love.
