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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