Ryan Postma
Journal Entry 2/23/96
7:45 am
Lockport, Illinois

The commuter glow of Southern Chicago blended with a reluctant sunrise and it was daylight. Gary is an edgy fifty miles behind us and Cliff pulled off the highway into this shithole suburb of the Windy City. He says he's got an errand to run. Cliff drives like he thinks: quick, with too many second guesses. The combination of early road-trip tension and some weak speed Scott slipped me at the diner preclude any thought of sleep. I'm the driver, what else am I to do? I admire Plakke, with his ability to sleep through anything, that particular talent will come in handy later, I know. Scott's been keeping a dim conversation alive with me in the front seat. We've been through a lot over the past couple of years, we know our backs our covered. At the same time we both know we’ve never been through anything like this, a lot of people and a lot of variables keep our minds racing as fast as this ghost-caddy engine. It's a V-8, but we're The Mutants and we can take care of our own.

I think Rob knows everything. He's nervous and that's not like him. I should pull him aside and talk but there hasn't been a convenient time. Chris is his usual self, although he seems a little too geared up for my tastes. Gotta watch him, if things get out of control then they get out of control, but no sense blowing this thing too early. It's a long road to Idaho and a longer one to be forgiven.

Cliff says he has to make a quick run into Chicago and we decide to all head in, we need to stick together. It's the midwest, after all, and shit goes wrong. Cliff's being kind of cagey about the whole thing but I think it's a good idea. We have to arrange some more convenient transportation and there's nowhere easier to do so than a big old city.


I got a chance to talk to Chris for a few minutes and he gave me a handgun of some kind. Normally I don't go for that sort of thing but I may need it for the new transportation arrangements.

Chicago is a beautiful city in the Spring and today is no exception, it must be nearing fifty degrees already. I've got Spring blood running myself and can see that Scott feels it too. It's time. We're in our prime, twenty-three years old and we haven’t wasted a single day. We're more intelligent than we've ever been, more aware, more in touch with ourselves and better equipped to deal with this world of happy hour lunacy than most of our dried out peers. And we're all here, every one of us. The Gathering. Say what you will about Fate, she's a domineering bitch but when she gets it together...it's tasty my friend. Tasty.

We drive by a high school bus lot and a light goes on in my head.

Sweet Home Chicago.


"The most decisive actions of our life are most often unconsidered actions."

--Andre Gide

-dem bones-
--Letters from a Savior; Offer for a few--

back-- forward