As I write this, our van tracks easterly, out of the Loxahatchee swamp, and toward the Atlantic in the northern reaches of Palm Beach County. Christmas is 6 days out, but this region does not acknowledge what others have come to call “winter”, and it is currently 80 plus degrees, humid, and sunny. Watching the palmettos wave goodbye in the rearview, the slight pain in my right shoulder is a constant reminder of the genuine lack of furniture that has accompanied us in the preceding 48 hours. Nothing a little wizard smoke won’t take care of.
To be entirely truthful, I have yet to experience a trip quite like this one. Post departure, our itinerary has been non-existent, and our every move is up for discussion. With the impending holiday promising heaps of shit that we don’t actually need, it is especially satisfying to know how fine everything would be if we were all sleeping on the ground, and eating fruit and peanut butter tortillas two meals a day.