2002-08-14 || 8:50 a.m.

|| spokane on a weekday ||

that city was one-hundred year old soot and the singing saw. peeling billboard ads. the distinct smell of the elderly. we were surrounded by rusty knives and sex offenders, piped into the cab of the truck by AM radiowaves, whirling around us like cartoon mosquitoes.

we couldn't find the freeway onramp for the life of us.

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