Like bugs on the windshield

...These are the days of our lives. Yes, I'm writing from the passenger seat after the first driver hand-off on Matt's and my road trip to Mojave. We just pitted in Grants Pass (got some shots to remember it by, Sarah!) after making it in nearly 20 minutes ahead of schedule. We've torn through two albums (Self and Zebrahead) and have confirmed through depp conversation that the meaning of life, the universe and everything really IS 42.

From here we'll devour what remains of our fresh fruit supply and cross over into The Aahnahld State. So far the only mishaps have been a poor CD selection by Matt (put in melow instead of road music), a fogotten pillow by me, and a bit of water dribbled down my front. Cheers fr now!

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