. . . in my pants. Sand in my shoes. Wander in my lust.
It’s been an entire year (August 2005) since I lived out of my suitcase and I’m getting horny for it’s intimate embrace.
Of course, thanks to the war criminals in the White House, our economy – and more specifically – the value of the US Dollar as international currency, has declined near to that of toilet paper. When you persist in an illegal war that costs billions per month – and hide its fiscal consequences by failing to either raise taxes or sell war bonds to pay for it, your currency suffers.
It’s a good thing I prefer to travel on the cheap. Other than air fares, not much of what I need during travel has greatly changed in price. Of course, what with the war crimes commited in our formerly-good-name by the Bush-Cheney administration, there’s much more hostility to Americans. One of my small ambitions as traveler is to give a face and voice in opposition to the terible things done in our good name.
So, I should go, right? Isn’t “should” a four-letter word with baggage?
Go? As in Samuel Beckett’s, “Waiting for Godot.” ??
Estragon: I can’t go on like this.
Vladimir: That’s what you think.
So, I’ll go . . . on.