“Paris is a woman, but London is an independent man puffing his pipe in a pub.” ~Jack Kerouac, Lonesome Traveler
If Kerouac were alive today and traveling the U.S., I think he’d agree with my observations:
Colorado is a young white dude with dreadlocks and the munchies, but Chicago is a guy named Joe, sporting a worn Blackhawks t-shirt while washing Cheetos down with a Schlitz beer from his La-Z-Boy recliner where he is master of the remote.
Anchorage is a soccer mom who can see Russia from her house, but Dallas is a big-haired tanorexic blonde with acrylic nails and a home bedazzling kit.
Des Moines is a pudgy old-timer whose man-sweater is airing out, thanks to his shirtless chest and the lone strap holding up his overalls, but Miami is Sal, the embroidered name on his bowling shirt gave that away, he’s a retiree whose trousers reach his armpits.
Washington DC is a soulless ‘suit’ lobbying for big pharma but, Portland is a young woman self-mutilated with piercings, spacers, and a tattoo sleeve that reflect the beasts that plague her. She’s a survivor and won’t hesitate to defend herself next time.
Los Angeles is a couple in baseball caps and sunglasses filled with delusions that people care who they are, but New York is a waiter who aspires to act.
Who do you see in your town?
A lot from Lydia 
A beautiful, homeless, meth-poetized, half-Comanche woman with sore feet sleeping in the extra sleeping bag under the table, who moments earlier told me, “I love you, Clyde.” Summer time in Yuma, Arizona, and I’m charmed to death!
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