Driving to places that do not exist
That’s one hell of a roller coaster ride.
I used to drive to places that do not exist. Twice a month.
I thought about it yesterday. I saw a bus, on the opposite side of the road, that was headed to one of those places. Its neon sign clearly stated it.
I have no clue of where you come from, fellow reader, but I can assure you that there are places that do not exist in your State too. They’re anywhere around the world. They’re the subjects to sentences like: “XYZ isn’t real” and “Nobody has really been in XYZ”.
XYZ clearly stays for “somewhere in the middle of nowhere”. A small village in the countryside of Kentucky. The 400 houses on the border between Latvia and Belarus. The first conglomerate of dwellings where the Mekong enters Cambodia. All those places where people actually live, but of which we never end up acknowledging the existence.
Because they are not New York. London. Or Tokyo.
They don’t look as much alive. No big shiny lights and crowded streets. There are no movie premieres, no gigs. No influencers posing with their new Loulou bag.
I used to drive to places that do not exist twice a month because I come from one of those places.
