Friday the thirteenth 2:25am somewhere between rio and Sao Paulo at a surprisingly spacious and clean rest stop with a buffet and a thousand toilets
Voices of Kerouacs and ginsbergs echo around my skull as I fight that annoyed, dull, tired feeling that has lingered since the bus stopped here
Just a few more hours, I tell myself, then i can rest
The most cookie cutter uninspired American bullshit is playing over the radio I find myself wondering who could seriously listen to this shit without suffering some kind of brain hemorrhage
(Yeah, that's original, new music sucks, try again asshole)
It reminded me of the bagel store
That crappy clock radio behind the bean grinders
outputting the most mind-numbing dance mix John tesch GARBAGE
Those first few quiet hours before we were obligated to turn on the radio
Blissful silent hum of the refrigerators and the warm glow of red and yellow neon tubes in the front window

I snap back to the bus, we're moving again and it's 2:40
Hopefully I'll get some sleep before Sao Paulo