Well it looks like the jig is about up, old friend. The collectors have been kept at bay for too long, and it's tax season again. Not that I'll owe anything this year(what a joke that'd be if I actually had enough gainful employment to owe those scurrilous bastards), but 4/15 looms like a blotto-ed writing gig's deadline and I wear that fear constantly. My friends must see it, and I certainly feel it enough; my constant thoughts are on a border run.
I told you about my truck's ills. I finally scrounged up enough to face that mountain of worry, forked over some $2300 and now feel refreshed and ready to escape. I'll probably toss my bike in, for I don't think the $3300 left will get me too much gas down below; a camper shell ought to be thrown on for housing. I plan on saying goodbye to my dad and dog without raising too much suspicion, lest pops try to keep me here with promise of financial rescue. I've had enough of that. My flight will be protracted and sad. Another bum, who lost at the simple American dream. Vagabond ex-pat, looking for a story...