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Stuck in Vegas on the Fourth

I have never spent Independence Day in the West.
And this I assure you is still the West.

You remember that rancher who held a stand-off with the federal government, and the government had to retreat?

That guy.

Bundy the Cowboy.

And his followers who were willing to take up arms against the government to protect their inalienable rights, essentially. And if that means revolting against the government with arms because they consider it too intrusive, then so be it.

They will revolt.

Strangely enough though, after driving cross-country in the Smart, the farther you move West the easier it is for the East lose touch with what’s going.

It’s different out here.

But you can be and will be influenced once you realize the vast distances and topography from East to West.

When on you’re on a road where there is nothing but 400 miles of mountains ahead – very likely that people in Washington will not comprehend that experience.

However, one needn’t threaten to attack the federal government, either.

That’s just fucking stupid.
And will bring you notoriety.
But not the kind anyone would want.

But that’s not where I am right now.
Right now I am somewhere in the middle of the town, where stucco houses dot the streets, somewhere along Eastern Avenue.

The sky is Violet.

The temp is somewhere in the low 100s but there is an incredible breeze.
And people have begun fire-cracking. But just across from me, on the other side of the stucco wall, someone is cutting wood with a power saw.

Who knows what he’s making…

But at least it is cool – such a relative term, you realize, when you’re stuck in Vegas on the Fourth.

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