Wyomming: Not Just a Cigarette Anymore

Laramie, Wyoming is a pretty great town. I promised several people that i'd never say that I miss it. But I do, because there is nothing there but sand, and dust, and small roads that lead to train tracks and day sleeping cowboys that sneer at me because i'm wearing a scarf and look like a strange stranger. After the sad overflowing floods of Nebraska, the flatness of absolutely nothing on the lonesome highways surrounded by ranches and rain clouds, the car was beginning to feel more like home, as Lars smoked cigarettes the welcoming expanse of infinite wyoming sky was so refreshing like the alcoholic caffeine drinks we pounded thru Iowa.

Eating a sandwich we passed into Wyoming and all the rain stopped, the switch is pulled and it's suddenly bright, sunny warmth of happiness is pouring through the bug holocausted windshield with a black wall of storm clouds behind us. The paranoid washer machine of Nebraska is gone forever, and the mountains and sand and sickly looking trees dot the land, planted in despite of, like otherworldly holidays with i don't understand, but I don't care because at this point i only want peace.

A giant coyote is at the top of a peak overlooking the dark highway, howling skywards, moonwise at the glowing lunar jewel that we look at hoping UFO's will obscure it, but we're just paranoid. Lights on the horizon become Cheyenne and we plow thru, Lars calling his buddy Sloth to tell him we're hours away--Wake up and prepare the feast, Laramie is on the green highway signs but he's not answering and it's making me very nervous....I've been driving for hours now, thru Iowa and Nebraska, then no rest as Lars-paranoid from the dope-tried not to kill us in the rain when the car started to rattle, but that passed and now i'm behind the wheel again roaring 90 mph because there's no pigs out here, there's nothing at all, and i'm fucking tired but to stop before Laramie would be a crime, it's right here and unimpressive looking in the dark. Down we go a totally corporate road like any other strip of gas stations and fast food in America, littered with people and trashed with obesity and wrappers blwoing in the wind in little cyclone corners like at the toyworks back east before it closed forever...We follow the directions towards and to campus, past the stadium which is the largest concentration of people in wyomming when a game is on, but its dark and quiet down the weird streets with grey speed ditches as opposed to bumps, to a random neighborhood and finally we get out and I piss and Lars says "beware of snakes, this is snake country now",, and the directions are incorrect so we're kind of lost and we ask a nice girl who seems afraid of us and our funny voices where we are and she says it's a nursing home, so we leave, back to the car past private homes despite no trespassing signs and finally we drive back down the strip, understanding and realizing we can;t find the right address and Sloth won't answer his phone and I'm tired and thinking that it might be a cold, cheap motel night again like in Chicago, crazy booming chicago, fuck, so we smoke cigarettes and Lars thinks he recognizes every car belonging to Sloth but he's incorrect every time.

So we give up and go to the bar and get drunk, laying down low I don't want to talk to anyone except the bartender, but a the most beautiful blonde in the mountains worked up front and I went to say hello but she was walking out, she was leaving so I went to smoke a cigarette (i was smoking cigarettes again after a year or so, back on my regular cigarette regiment) and they tell me to leave my drink inside so I do and its cold and windy up in the mountains of Laramie, the 7k feet in the air, the cigarette tasted bad and sloth is not answering his phone and no one called my phone so i stood outside spitting by myself lonely in wyoming with my scarf blowing in the dusty-railroad air, watching stupid cars pull in and out and i angrily think everything is pretty stupid, especially Lars and his friends, cigarettes and railroads, and pretty blond mountain girls that leave too early and myself gor getting all restless with the repetitive burden of life on the east coast, so much so that i moved my sad lonely furniture back to my dad's house and packed up all my fears, hopes, questiions and clothes and drove all the way to wyoming because i was terribly unhappy back east and i can find temporary smiles and solace on the road with a can of half drunk black 8% AbV Sparks jammed between my crotch while everything i love is packed in the trunk except my cat and everything else is outside the windows, falling 25 miles over the speed limit behind me, thinking about how those wholesome family sitcoms always preached that one could not run away from their problems. That is false, one can definitely run away from problems, especially if you drive fast enough and don't get pulled over when you're buzzed with a backseat filled with empties and your co-pilot is sparking up a Manchester Chillum, and now im smoking cigarettes again in the cold wind of Laramie some how where no one answers their phones and its great woe in the old world where my new words fail to describe it, but i need to be brave for Lars who i can see sitting all placidly inside the bar drinking himself slowly to death so i say to myself, 'just another day in the void', and walk back inside to finish my beer despite being in no particular mood to drink...

Regards, Esortnom