I wander America on a Harley Davidson motorcycle, sleep on couches and in fifty-dollar motel rooms, eat at Waffle House and Main Street cafes, and have conversations with people whose politics I might not agree with. These are our stories.
WTF Motel
He stopped, bent down and out of the gutter picked up a bright, shiny Bowie knife and held it above his head
Born in 1964
James and George are HIV positive
Laundry Day
I just thought it was a fun picture…
The Mineral Springs Motel
One of our two waitresses complained that eating raw broccoli gives her gas so bad she can’t breath
The Road to Ripley
Russ was drafted
The Four Seasons Motel
Vincent is my neighbor two doors down. Forty-seven, untrimmed beard, divorced, four kids, three at home with the ex.
Grand Canyons
My worn and dusty shoe dangles
Above a billion years
Three thousand feet of history
Just beneath my sole
And Snow, Snow was Dead
There are a lot of ways to die in a peacetime army.
Lovely Rita
Kid ran his car up the ass of a Firebird. The old man couldn’t pay for it.
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