Truckin'

Tis me, lovelies! Ole Quint has returned to ye. And despite your worries for the safety of yours truly, I can assure you that they are completely unwarranted. Sure my skin is soft and pleasing to the eye, but I assure you it possesses the fortitude of Achilles' ballbag!

Allow me to bring you up to speed since me last entry...

After spending about a week in the vice-like grip of a particularly strong sheet of LSD, I commandeered a 14-year-old boy's bicycle as he delivered newspapers on the streets of West Virginy. Then I headed South, continuing on my path of enlightenment with my eyes staring in the direction of my ultimate destination...the docks of the lovely Key West. I set off about two weeks ago and presently I stand just shy of the border between Georgia and Florida.

The weather is hot and I reek like the greenish yellow liquid that rises in between the plastic trash bags in the backs of waste collecting vehicles before spilling onto the sun-beaten asphalt during the humid summer days. I'm sure you've smelled it. Surprisingly, it doesn't taste half bad. It's quite deceiving.

Before you judge me, why don't you tell me how one should survive when travelling several hundred miles on his own with no money and very little possessions. I tried eating grass! Sure it looks pretty, but it's not that appetizing! Come to think of it...it's not unlike a Mexican prostitute.