The Mother of Roads – pt 1on May 4, 2014 at 7:02 pm
The first days on the new continent have been kind to us. I’m beginning to think that there couldn’t have been a better place to land on this continent than sunkissed San Francisco. Our gracious host (a self-proclaimed druid) frequently postulates how his City (capital C) sports the largest amount of freaks per square mile. Well, we do feel welcome.
It takes me a while to calibrate my social equipment to american standards. Me and my cohort have frequent disagreements on this: we’re frequently hailed by people so friendly it’s suspicious. In Belgium, those friendlies are after your money – no doubt. So we’re going down some street, and some homeless old lady suddenly compliments me on my t-shirt. Obviously a lead-in for ‘spare some change, fellas?’
And then, the anticipated sentence never follows.
It’s a weird mix: some hobo will chat you up, and will just keep on chatting, being ever so friendly. He says goodbye without money-oriented requests. It makes me think for a minute – half-heartedly wishing I’d given the poor bastard a dollar.
Me and Kris form a decent – even if not entirely functional – team on this issue: I’m the too-trusting hippie. Only yesterday I was chatting with a mouth-foaming drug dealer. Kris on the other hand, is stone paranoid. Not quite functional, but still a useful combo.
We went to pick up our rental car, only to find out they’d framed us with a tiny Chevrolet Spark – not quite the American Pride vehicle we’d booked. Dreading the cramped journey down route 66, we half-heartedly asked what the next class of vehicle would be.
Yes! The very same Dodge Charger, the classic american muscle-car, that is driven by our esteemed Mr. Vandersteen in THIS COMIC!
Life does imitate art, huh?