4.29.12 | Journaling

i'm writing this from my tiny phone screen in the back of a truck somewhere in the pacific northwest to the sound of eastern storm on western ground and irish folk music being sung by men with soft souls but rough faces. my friend is asleep on my lap. we are wrapped in Icelandic wool, heading north and the wind is very cold. I need a good meal but all we have is a bar of chocolate. I can sometimes see mt. hood in my view. what I really want is a bag of kettle chips and warmer hands. there is a man speaking about jealousy to a woman relating it, somehow, to democracy. he is sure, she is sure... and all i know is that it's good for my writing. 
I notice this, these little things and also that my hair is wind torn.