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A Thousand Miles Ago

Sitting there one morning surrounded by grasslands, as close to the middle of nowhere as I've ever been in some time, I can see how doomed my little project is but can't imagine not going on--that's how doomed it is, my little project.

The refrigerator in the RV is 'out' again, and I can't walk to coffee. My friend the writer tells me he's working on his new book, but it's not about poetry as he'd told me, it's about science fiction. We both own a televison no one is watching.

Up ahead, somewhere between Trinidad, Colorado and Sterling, Kansas there's a big Victorian house I can buy for $1,700.00. It's painted yellow and looks good from the outside. A meth addict and his 3 kids have been living in it for the past two years: I don't know this until I've bought the house and opened the front door for the first time and see that what I've bought isn't The American Dream.

By the time I get to Oklahoma I can't wait to get out of Oklahoma. I take the Interstate for some reason, though I'd vowed not to take the Interstates. 

Kansas is so far behind me, those last little towns I stopped in and enjoyed--Wellington especially and Caldwell too. If I was to go back in time I'd settle in a small town in Kansas and live my life all over again.

Reader Comments (1)

I'm not sure if I'm suppose to chuckle, but I did anyway. Ain't life grand!

May 20, 2019 | Unregistered CommenterTom Raher

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