The Happy Highway Handbook

The Happy Highway Handbook is a rough guide for learning how to cope with those never ending white lines in the road.  Find comfort floating around aimlessly in airport terminals and breathe a deep sigh of relief instead of dread during take off.  Relinquish control of your own life and succumb to the great expanse of the open road.  You are not taking the journey, the journey is taking you.

 

  
I am not a marble ledge in Boston, perfectly polished, waxed and prepared to withstand years or torment.

I have not the emotional or physical fortitude to live on a New York rooftop and party forever, although it sounds mighty enticing.  I appreciate my days equally as i do my nights.  I can only blend them together for short periods of time.

 

I am partly New Jersey, a purgatory I long for, but cannot claim as my own.

 

I can own Philly as the introduction to the final resting place for my disjointed brain and scrambled soul.  Between cheesesteak and regret lies an Airbnb full of Sloppy Joe memories, and sorrow.

I owe part of my soul to Delaware the hell are we, and what the hell purpose to we have here.  Twas the smoothest ground since leaving San Jose, and boy are my eyes tired.  I crossed a bridge who's name I cannot remember, but who's image I won't soon forget.

I am mostly Baltimore.  Those places previously mentioned provide an effemerial charm that can be stripped apart by a visit to one Baltimore Liquor store.  Season the rim of your own life with Old Bay and sip from the crusty chalice of mankind.  Nothing befits me like a smashed out window residing comfortably in a dilapidated Baltimore shack.  I am no different than any of those other windows, I just happen to have been subject to a few skillfully thrown rocks, and we all belong to the same brick building.