Back on the bus and bumping along with all the others, gone and gone and gone and gone with the best of them. License plates from he couldn’t see where or know why, all leaving nothing behind, with their hearts in San Francisco, AHOY!

Tomorrow is stuck on the letter J, like his name, and waiting for the next town to come rolling in with a pit stop and — THAR SHE BLOWS — we’re on to K (which is much easier). It’s a small town, with one bathroom in the gas station, but plenty of beer and ice cream and coffee doughnut-chip jerky-trinket brake-fluid cigarettes (and so on). Three aisles full, yes sir, yes sir!