I am fortysomething hours away from the hugest adventure I have yet concieved. It's Sunday and it's hot in St. Louis. Leanne is finishing packing. She's going with me. And as much as I want to talk about my adventure, I want to talk about Leanne a little bit more.
Leanne is from a working-class town in Massachusettes. We met through a friend who knew we both needed a new living sitch in Chicago. So we shook hands at a punk show and decided we could most likely get along with each other. Then she sent me an email to tell me she found us a place, on Western Avenue, above a Polish bar... which i thought sounded like the best thing in the world, so we did it. And ever since, we're best friends. She loves classic rock, eggs, and the IWW. I really like eggs too. Man, do I like Leanne.
After six months on Cherokee Street in St. Louis, we're going North together with no money, none at all, on what Bubblegum Shitface would call a "conceptual hobo" journey. After North we jog counterclockwise around the US map. No cold weather allowed.
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