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  • Put on on your plastic patent shoes, tighten the plastic tie, and and get in your plastic car, put the plastic key in the ignition switch, and listen to the purring of those plastic cylinders pumping energy to the plastic driveshaft. As you back out of your driveway, past the row of plastic shrubs, you notice there is a stack of plastic letters inside the plastic mailbox. Might there be new plastic in there?

    Glancing at your plastic watch, you realize there is not enough time to check the plastic mail. Better floor it and zoom past the plastic neighborhood kids, with their plastic tussled hair and plastic smiles of play. You give a wave to the plastic groundskeepers working in the Cohen's home, and you wonder how that guy can afford the plastic four story home. He's a plastic lawyer.

    Passing the plastic church with it shiny white plastic steeple, you wonder if the plastic minister will finally give a new plastic sermon from the plastic pulpit this week. A plastic dog lifts his plastic leg on the plastic oak tree in front of the church. That plastic pup might end up in plastic hell, if there is such a place.

    Again with the plastic day dreams! What the plastic is wrong with you? Cannot focus on a plastic thing. That's what your plastic gym teacher Mr Bunts always said, with his perfectly molded plastic hair and plastic clipboard in hand.

    You find it lucky that you find a parking spot in front of the plastic Starbucks, and with regret realize there is not enough time to get a plastic chai latte as you are supposed to make aplastic drop down in the back reaches of that dark plastic alley. Your mind is reeling from that plastic email you got from your plastic supervisor who threatened you with exposure regarding that little plastic profit you slipped from the plastic ledger books. Oh yeah, Bruce was happy when he got his first plastic slice of the pie, but than ended up with a bit of plastic righteousness up his plastic ass.

    And thus, caught in the rush of your plastic hurried lifestyle, you never noticed the plastic gun pressed against your head, nor the plastic bullet that sliced into your cerebellum like it was plastic butter, and there was not even sufficient time to have a plastic flashback before your body hit the cold hard concrete and just stopped.

    I am using Cowbird to share the story of a 15,000 mile road odyssey I took in 2011, which started with me quitting my job in March and setting out in June for a loop around the US and Canada. It's less of a day by day narrative and more of an attempt to tell a story of the story, with some amounts of imagined bits that emerge on looking at the media from the trip, including the more than 1400 images, videos, and audio files collected in my digital time capsule, the Storybox.
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