Somewhere in Pennsylvania
Somewhere in Maryland
Somewhere in New Jersey
Twelve moves over 18 years. It never bothered me then and the flashbacks don't bother me today. A sudden remembrance of anonymous highways, gas stations and motels from over 40 years ago. Indexed as: Bliss to Sill. Sill to Bragg. Monroe to Carson...
Ft Monroe to Ft Carson:
A diner waitress in New Mexico. Her simple beauty known only to me. She smiled a special smile at me. I was sure. In her butterscotch uniform and white apron. I was 15.
Ft Bliss to Ft Sill: Small homes on a flat red dusk with their dark insides lit only by blue television light. At seven, I wondered who the people were that watched TV together in the dark.
Ft Carson to Florida retirement: Only two months of high school before I graduate. I thought the Panhandle was America's stretch of ass compared to the West. I kept count of dead armadillos on the highway and wondered what the people thought of us as we drove by their orange stands, body shops and car dealers.
I still do. A 6AM train from NYC to DC. I wonder what it's like to be someplace I'm passing through. The back of scrap yards, body shops and car dealers. Back to NYC on a 7PM train, and night shows me inside TV lit apartments with snipped pictures of bookshelves, green ferns and posters belonging to Philadelphia, Trenton and Newark.
Not much has changed.