2003 Having left the hotel at the foot of the rockies in Manitou Springs, we head towards Fort Carson. It is a nice sunny day, and we are in dire need of the morning drug. We find a quaint yet yuppie looking coffee shop along the highway looking a little too under the influence of Southwest Chic Kitsch with wooden howling coyotes painted in clichéed western hues. Suddenly amidst the seemingly happy atmosphere, a scent of sewer fills my nose. I look around and suspect maybe it's just a septic tank. But Stan swears it was the men, two of them, younger than we are, short jelled crew cut hair, white business shirts. Jeep drivers. Extreme businessmen. They wreaked of unwashed body parts and bowel movements. They came in for a cuppa joe like us, but where were they headed? They were too dressed up to be campers. I would expect foul odors if they'd just come in from being in the woods for days. But they were too dissheveled, too smelly, to be going back to work. What were they? Perhaps it's better I not know. At least the coffee was good.

197? The memories are few. Just a bit here and there...a restaurant near the New Mexico border...shivering under a blanket in the back seat because he was too frugal even with car heat...a motel ceiling with sparkles that somehow comforted me at night, knowing there was a universe out there, and some time, some how, I will leave this place and be free like the stars. Mostly I only remember emotions, not the images. I will have to get the images later in the future when I can appreciate them. Right now all I care about is my own survival, and images are distracting and unnecessary. The biggest emotion is hate followed by fear. I want to kill them, but then what would happen to me? I want someone to take me, please, take me with you and get me away from them.

199? We park on Capitol Hill and walk to the apartment building. We hear an argument going on inside. It is them. They are arguing. They knew we were coming. Does she not want to meet us? We decide it's probably not a good time and go back to the car. Thinking back on it, it was never a good time.

Labels: Vacation