Ryan Postma
Journal Entry 2/29/96
6:20 pm
Kadoka, South Dakota
We’ve been
on the road for several days now and I’ve neglected my
journal in favor of an
amphetamine high and
manual transmission.
Scott and I commandeered the Caddy and led the troupe through
Wisconsin and
Minnesota leaving only
headlines and
memories in our quest for
the snake eyed man. For the past 400 or so miles we’ve been seeing signs for
Wall Drug arranged like a colorful
picket fence across the
midwest. The last couple have had banners over them proclaiming the infamous
shop-of-horrors closed for a couple of weeks due to some sort of
electrical problem in the city. I’ve an idea growing in my head that I can neither shake nor form and I just
pray it will fit out my mouth when I choose to voice it. I look over at Scott, he looks back at me.
We’ll stop off in Cottonwood to pick up some snake-juice, Jipping has a few connections in these parts from the Badland days of yore.
My teeth hurt just thinking about it and I can’t help but begin to just smile...
“But I don’t want to go among mad people,” Alice remarked.
“Oh, you can’t help that,” said the Cat: “we’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad.
“How do you know I’m mad?” said Alice.
“You must be,” said the Cat, “or you wouldn’t have come here.”
--Lewis Carroll
-dem bones-
--Letters from a Savior; Offer for a few--
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