April 14, 2015 ROADLOAF

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We're drivin' here. Its a goddamn desert and it has been for 700 miles. Its dry and martian and gorgeous, surprising in how much activity there is. Trains and towns and La Quinta inns next to anti-meth billboards and the heart of Navajo country. We stopped in Flagstaff at 2 am and checked into one super Super 8 motel. Just lovely. Mattresses soft as Oprah's bosom, a continental breakfast of vintage pastries, and a blonde haired, wonder-pecced desk clerk who had all the right answers. Life on the road, friends.

We awoke at the crack of 10 and rolled into a tasty ol' mexi-brexi (breakfast) spot flanked by mystical crystal shops and Pendleton wool wholesalers. Pair that with the homemade clay muggery and you've got the stuff of Santo dreams. Flagstaff aint bad people. Go there then invite us to hang out with you.

We're thigh high into this tour, buddies. On our way to Fayetteville Arkansas in our brand-new 2007 Cadillac Escalade pimpin' long hard hours on I 40. We opened up the glove box to find the former owners registration. The name? ELON MUSK. NO SHIT. The Tom Brady-level stud billionaire real-life Bruce Wayne who invented the future of cars used to drive our newly faithful caddy wagon (christened, Betty). If ever we meet face to face we'll thank him for the well worn ass-grooves and the nearly flawless interior. Thanks Musky.

We'll wrap this little piece up but it's been fun yakkin'. The desert makes a lot of memories, new marinating with the old; mushroom induced SUV purchases in Gallup, adopting a gas station desert dog in Mexican Waters, the whole shlemiel. Its a kooky road we're on. We hope we see you on it soon.

Love,

Sooze Ben and Cronus