Day nine:
The sheer number of people impeding my movement with their biomass is starting to become a hassle. It's time for a change in mindset. I don't know why I have let myself become so fixated on avoiding people.

I'm not, in the eyes of the law, on the run, or hiding from "the man". This is not a spy thriller movie. I'm a fool to think that here, in this throng of seasonal faces, anybody could possibly recognize me - the only picture they've put on the TV for the "rescue effort" so far was a very outdated one they wheedled out of the public affairs office. I look nothing like I did then.

So, I grabbed a ride with a produce truck down into Portland (There's a Portland and a Boston in Maine, among other familiar names, within easy distance from here... it threw me off at first too!) to see about getting a serious move on out into parts unknown. The local paper's classifieds tell me that there's some kind of really shady used car lot down in town, the kind of place that will take a decent pair of shoes as collateral on a $500 loan for a salvage titled junker that only starts when the weather's just right.

With any luck the last of the cash and a little shystering of my own will get me farther than the big grey dog would, and with more time to think.

My goals are becoming clearer. Having severed everything, I'm floating, looking for a place to re-anchor. I can't float indefinitely; that way lies simple homelessness and a cardboard sign that says "WILL DEFY ECONOMIC AND SOCIAL STANDARDS FOR FOOD".

Take it easy, and Noli Nothis.