Day 1

Underneath the squinting eye of an incomplete moon, I shot west, futilely competing to outpace the rising sun still looming over Europe’s ruins and modern crumblings.

Bursting out of the city through the tall grass we call skyscrapers a horizon emerged. Skyscrapers? No Spires. Brimming with financial wizards and their A.I. familiars concocting new rituals and mysticisms to transform our bags of potato chips to cost $7.

Passing Syracuse, the beast of nuclear fusion was already traversing the Atlantic Ocean. Crackling in the void. Cackling? Yes, cackling as it burned away Plato’s shadows.

Miles blazed by, the mind spun at the same speed as the balding tires. My subconscious drove the machine making turns and decisions I did not foresee.

We obsess over the foibles of falling stars, leaders of the free (actually very expensive) world cosplay assassination attempts, the processing power waste heat to fuel the mind of our artificial intelligence is exactly one unit of hellfire, the youth prepare for a life of pauperdom, the elderly embrace the new edgy retirement plan of running the country while playing chicken with senility, and it all collapses to background noise as my world becomes an argument with a Canadian border guard. Sol Mischievously smiles on the horizon.

“Passport.”

“Here you go.”

“Thank you.”

He examined the identification thoroughly.

“How are the squirrels in Canada?” I asked during the examination.

“What?” He looked up from my identification.

“Well, like on a scale of 1 to Canadian goose, how would you rate Canadian squirrels?”

“Sir, do you have drugs in your car?”

“No sir, nothing has been squirreled away. Have you ever been to the states?”

“I have not.”

“Really? You could take three steps this way and you’ll be in the states.”

“What’s with you and squirrels?”

“I’m just saying I’m not a big fan and I was hoping Canadian squirrels were more docile.”

“More docile than what?” At this point he’s holding my passport but more as a prop than an actual important object.

“More docile than what I’m used to.”

He leaned forward in his booth. Hands on the metal counter between us. My identification nonchalantly between his left pointer and middle finger. “What are you used to?”

I stared forward mimicking a Vietnam flashback. As a kindred French colony, I thought he would empathize. “What aren’t we used to…” I said trailing off.

Done with the conversation, he handed me the passport and resorted to standard operating procedure, “enjoy your stay in Canada.” The car crawled forward sensing the vibe.

There are foundational truths we can never overcome. We can’t outrace the sun, rising taxes, squirrels, or Usain Bolt. Was it intentional to make ‘mood’ the backwards spelling of  ‘doom’? It’s all a bunch of bull. But worth it for the rare opportunity to manifest our own destiny. Thus, the escape from the cubicle and the journey to the west not unlike the ancient monkey king himself from the land of the rising sun:

“Nothing in the world is difficult,” said the Patriarch; “only the mind makes it so.”

Editor’s note: At this point, the journalist still hasn’t realized he is in a self-driving car that we control from the office.

Day 2

I stood at the base of the 18-foot tall “Hamburger Charlie” Nagreen monument eating a hot dog then got back on the road. All-American food quiets the mind and sharpens the patriotism.

Day 3

Coming soon