The day breaks while we were somewhere along the I-5. Christopher, the only one who was alert (out of necessity), points out that the sun was rising from the horizon, but we were too drowsy to appreciate it properly. We stop at a Denny's to get some healthy, wholesome, maple-syrup drenched American breakfast in a town that stinks of cow shit. I wonder how it feels to live in a farming town. You get used to it, I suspect. But when you leave, does the smell linger? And when you're in a big city, away from home, does the smell of shit remind you of your roots? Can the city boys smell it off you, years after you've stopped having your mother's fresh steak monday? I hate farms. The only way I know how to enjoy this vast expanse of space is the feeling of passing through them.
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