Colville

Here I am in colville, WA at the public library. AND i still cannot show you any pictures from the trip since all the libraries across the country don't allow uploading. THings are getting easier, and I'm getting into the groove of things. Meeting so many crazy people, seeing beautiful places and just feeling alive. I am no longer going to post entire chapters of my book but instead just excerpts that tickle me pink. Here's some from the first chapter: of course more to come.

"Of course the post office is closed, but the mailboxes inside are available and Estes is able to find an envelope for his excess weight. After much contemplation he leaves a small bundle of juggling balls, books, clothing, and unnecessary tools beside the road- some of this is retrieved later but that's beside the point. Off to find a bite to eat, but then realizes his harmonica was left on the red plastic bench- that litters the streets of America- in front of the Post office. He scurries back with heartpumping speed to find it resting inconspicuously in front of the post office.

The smell of pizza illuminates the air guiding Estes to a restaurant deemed Eastside20Pizza. Gawkers dig his bike outside whether they understand or not. After a calzone and dark beer, served by a cute blond waitress, he finds his way back to his bike after being offered a free place to camp tonight. The offer is tempting. At his bike the banjo decases itself, a harmonica hangs around the skintight neck of Estes. He begins playing a haphazard aray of sonic vibrations. People do what they do: watch, listen, breathe, drink, masticate on greasy pizza. A glint of happiness creeps over Estes's fidgity hands and feet as onlookers become interested.

A couple of songs go by and one of the cute waitresses from before makes a request that he play the stage setup in the back quartyard. Climbs atop the triangular stage littered with various instruments, at first attempting accompaniment with the father of the owner of eastside20, as he plays absolutely wretched beat and undiscernable keyboard and guitar. Estes edges his way into control, slipping into the spotlight and shows vigor and his performative side shining. As if a new shell has been entered by a wandering vulnerablee hermit crab. Someone gives him a tip afterwards and Estes is on his way to find a place to sleep. The area has become desertlike, with urine radiating sagebrush and scattered pines instead of the usual cactus and sand. A couple of potential spots to hang his hammock fall through so he instead lays low beneath sagebrush and his tarp, blocking himself from view, on a sleeping pad, being stabbed in the back by grass, but totally content on his surrounding. Sleep comes easier then before with dreams of future places to busk and show artwork."

I will try to get pictures up soon through a warmshowers host. Stay tuned.