daliesque, burlesque, some french words sprung into my head and then there's some sort of remenant memory from NYC, a girl called wendy slipping into my bed, ah no the scene blurs and its a bar in new jersy where after a tranquil day tubing i end up drunk in a bar with wendy the hot little teenage nympamaniac whith an insatiable thirst for sexual healing, we are so drunk all i can recall are her lips heading towards mine, her accent and those white tennis socks that look innocent but are deceptive, i am sinking into her breasts. cut, we are rolling around in a hotel bed, hot and covered in sweat, i know we both have to be somewhere important in the morning but my sense of responsibility is somewhat deficit.
america, 1984 was amazing, it was still the vast uncharted road trip, i loved it, the freedom, the spontinaty, the girls, the driving along the highways, the strange people we met, the skies, my rand mcually road map, the bars and grills, roadside dinners, the radio stations all playing springsteen, the country and western, the western country, the way we could sleep on picnic tables, the skunk, the desert, the mountains and the mid western plains, it was keruacs dream, and i followed him, and now its a nightmare.

america turned into russia, the cold war never really finished it just was on deep freeze, new enemy, old enemey its still the enemy, memes running blindly, human switched on to auto, the was always something out there, a threat a fear but driving along the hiway for three days, stopping in the desert and streching my legs, smelling the dry air the arid furnace of nevada, the endless horizen , there was a freedom that can't be won.