WHAT ELSE WAS I GOING TO THINK IN IDAHO FALLS?

such a screwy place--the roads double-back on one
another, and they've hidden the dennys somewhere, probably behind a temple--and sure, there are other places to eat, but all you can get at eleven oclock are gas station chips and vending machine generated mochas, which sure as hell aren't going to give me what I need to swear and kick my "built like a rock" chevy station wagon while it deteriorates into nothing more than a
fifteen-hundred pound paperweight, while snow on my head reminds me of something else I forgot to pack, thank god the phone card works, because I don't think prayers ever make it out of this place.

  Jim Toweill