AV

Don’t be the batshit ex or you, too, will derail great discussions and turn them into a dinner-time carnival of lulz.

He was still waiting for a conclusion. But I could not give it to him any more than I could give it to you now. You have to go back, far back, to understand the root of the issue. Because it doesn’t start with a lobbyist or a congressman. It doesn’t even start with the United States.

Dream Girls. A lone building in the middle of this desert wasteland with a sign over it in pink. Dream girls. It’s a sick fuchsia, buzzing nervously against the night like the whole thing’s about to give out. We’re not looking for a bar or a crazy good time. We’re looking for girls. Sounds like…continue reading.

The car reeks of sex as we enter Laughlin on Casino Drive. We eat some place at the Edgewater. I tell them I want the meat blue and they have no idea what it means. You can always tell what kind of a restaurant you’re at if they know what “blue” means. As predicted, it’s…continue reading.

Mojave Valley Highway. It’s the last leg of the journey between Needles and Bullhead City, Arizona. The place is desolate: there’re more adult bookstores than houses, not a person in sight. If it weren’t for the Harleys parked outside a saloon, passerby’d probably think the place was a ghost town. We find a Wal-Mart. I…continue reading.

Barstow, California was named after W. B. Strong — B for Barstow. The place’s a drive-through; no one wants to stay there beyond the ten minutes required to get a few more Bulls, piss and have a cigarette on the way to somewhere else. I get out of the car and breathe the impossibly hot…continue reading.