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On Travel

Everywhere I travel is strangely like New Jersey. “Strangely” because I don’t even live in New Jersey, a place I’ve always found to be mildly foreign and inconvenient, if occasionally disarming in a picket fence-ish sort of way. So: LA was New Jersey with pathologically well manicured palm trees. Hawaii was New Jersey with the McDonalds McTeri (the “-aki” is silent) and incessant sun. San Francisco was Jersey in pastels. Perhaps Asia is far enough.

Although I have a definite and aggressive immune response to anywhere but here. Hives and rawness, alternating despair and existential angst. Either I’ve evolved so specifically to this city that I’m simply un-viable anywhere else, or I am truly addicted to it, toxins and all, and New Hampshire actually triggers chemical withdrawal.

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