I left New Jersey in a thirty-five degree frenzy. I was already one month behind. One of the greater sources of fuel for this drive was the promise of warmer temperatures, the ones that favor cut-off sleeve shirts and Chuck Taylors...or maybe even plastic sandals tinted a nauseating pastel that I will never wear. Fuck winter to death. Cold gets in my core, coils around my spine like an Ice Wyrm, and pulls me down deep into the permafrost.
I don't remember the drive through Delaware. I'm not sure if this was Delaware's fault or my own. I never bothered to stop, straight shot to the campground. It was frozen. A half dozen Class-A's stuck fast in a semi-circle. These people were not passing through, they were settled. I parked and walked down to the pond, immediately turned back around, and headed back to Thee Witch to get under the blankets and draw. I drew an enraged shamanic mushroom and dwelled on an old relationship before falling asleep.