Heading due east — the sun rises late in the city. The streets come alive with the morning commuter swarms long before the sun crest’s the skyline. I’m on my way to Washington D.C. as the sky takes on its morning coat of pale blue grey. I suppose that it has been longer than thirty years since I have last been on a Greyhound bus but so far I like what I see. Ask me again how I feel about it or my butt feels about it in thirty hours. At my feet is an electrical outlet to power my computer overhead in the invisible ether is free WiFi, hell, I could live here.
The seats resemble aircraft seating with the same gizmos overhead, a light and an air vent. We are headed in the right direction as the sun is now in my eyes as I practice and try to acquire the new skill of typing while in motion. How hard can it be? It only took twenty five years to work myself up to thirty or forty words per minute when stationary. You can’t ever tell with my skills the highway bumps and jostles might actually help. I might actually get good at it, like a video game, your finger aims for a key and maybe it will be there and maybe not.
The city is behind us now and the commuter traffic is pouring in from the other direction. Monday morning, coming down hard and fast, bright and gritty, but we are escaping it all having reached the open road now and in the words of Simon & Garfunkel, we are off to look for America. The next thirty hours to be filled with cornfields, bus stops, rusting bridges and falling leaves. I arrive tomorrow at noon, at that cosmic Disneyland known as our nation’s capital Washington.
I arrive not as a penitent or a supplicant, but as a land lord. A citizen with more birthright than my government wishes to acknowledge but in that regard we shall see. It really is a beautiful country except for the parts that we have tried to improve upon. I am on my way.
David Glenn Cox is a senior staff writer for The Leftist Review