Less pollo more gringo: a man and his van
A small cool bead drew quickly together at the base of my hairline. A bit thinner than it used to be, the bead slid easily through my hair across the curve of my head to my temple. Slowly, I came to with a sweaty roll into cold damp sheets. Why was it so hot and where was I? With a startle I sat straight up. Was it a work day? Was I in a hotel room? At my parent’s house in Chicago? In New York? In South America? The story of the previous three years could be written from that fleeting moment. Rapidly exploding thoughts reached the rolling green mountain tops surrounding the Hudson Valley before settling back to the river at the valley floor. All that remained was a consistent droning of the ceiling fan. I was safe in my van and it was Saturday. A few hours remained until sunrise and the day’s adventure. I slowly drifted back to sleep. It has been two years since I last posted. From the corners of the US, to Europe to the islands of Indonesia I have not stopped traveling (except for a f...