Take a road trip with me

It's the time of year when I really crave a road trip. A quick jaunt.

Last year I got this car, my very first car. My sister, whose five years younger than me but imminently more successful and rich, hooked me up with her old car. Yeah, hand-me-down car from younger sister. It's a 1994 Buick Century with plush interior and fake wood panneling and it only has 60,000 miles on it. Total grandma car but runs pretty well.

I had a penchant for solitary overnight trips to small towns in Wisconsin last summer, and maybe quick four days in Chicago. But I barely use it now. It sits out on the street and I drive to the gym when its raining or I would drive to Seward to drink on porches but I figure I gotta use this thing up, you know, fully believing that someday I'll be telling grand nieces and nephews about the good old days when you could drive a car around just for fun.

So come on a road trip with me. We'll check out cage fighting in Sioux Falls. Small town gay bars, Petroglyphs. Laura Ingalls Wilder sites. We'll eat red vines. Buy gourds from roadside stands. Maybe hike? Go antiquing? Have sex in the woods? Visit distant relatives? Find swimming holes, eat junk food, smoke with the windows down, make mix tapes. Score some meth from a roadside stand, visit balls of twine, take erotic polaroids involving bare flesh and the smooth contours of car metal, bare souls, nap in the back seat, buy canned plums from Amish roadside stands, take photos of Louis Sullivan banks, get lost, call in sick for a week, write some beat poetry, work on the trains near Salinas.