i took a taxi to the u-haul parking lot and it was seven a.m. and my head still hurt; i hadn't told my parents yet. "oh you want the fourteen footer" she said "it'll do just fine, it won't give you any trouble". the truck was loaded but it took forever and it was getting dark. i hadn't eaten all day. the fast food tasted like paper and the pop was too sweet and i couldn't go home (where was it now anyways?). the air conditioners broken and its hot as hell out, it was august. driving down portage put the low sitting sun in plain view, it was warm which made the world smell like hot pavement and the am/fm was playing neil young. i was driving west as far as whenever for no particular reason. the cab of the truck seemed as good a place as any but the fifteen of lucky made it pitiful. i took a left on westwood drive and the motel was clean and safe and the freshly made bed reminded me of new york, the way they tuck the sheets in i guess, and it made me cry. the hot and cold taps in the shower were reversed and i couldn't find my fucking toothbrush but at least the television worked. it flickered coloured shadows on the walls and the c.b.c. was playing rio lobo. john wayne's grit gave me some brief solace and stability which did not last. i ran out of cigarettes but didn't drink all the beer although i probably should have. i woke up in the morning and it was seven a.m. and my head still hurt, i reached for you in the blankets (you were not there).
