I’m on the road to nowhere.
Huh.
Talking Heads.
They sounded cool in the 80s and sound cool now.
I don’t know where I’m going.
I’m a traveler. I don’t need to know where I’m traveling.
I need to read the latest Jake Needham book.
Internet is hit and miss on the coastal road.
I’m parked in the middle of no where.
And decide to do a fictious interview.
Sure, I was under the spell of the desert.
The usual laws of human nature don’t work here.
You can hit a kangaroo at 80 miles.
And still get away with it.
If it was a pet dog in the city, they’d lynch and feather you and then dip you in tar, then put a tyre around you, and ignite it.
Not in the desert.
The poor roo made a mess of my car.
Well I thought.
It was a dumb fucker and hopped away.
The only sign that I hit a roo was its hair and a pulp of flesh on the bullbar.
I got ten points for hitting it.
Another ten if I killed it.
I skidded to a stop and decided to do my interview with Jake.
It went really well.
I recorded it on my Windows netbook.
The file wasn’t compatible with Youtube.
So I couldn’t even upload it.
It was a real effort about the virtues of Jake’s books.
I’m always reading them when I’m the road.
And I suppose that’s what counted, right?
But the road was waiting for me. I had miles, more of them, to cover tonight, before I stopped fifty clicks before Carnarvon, the town with the tracking station, used to track the lunar landing.
