So we stayed in Kalamazoo Michigan last night, in a bit of a sprawl
of hotels and eateries and highway. Rising at 11ish, I spotted a
Perkins diner over yonder and made my way towards it as the crow flies.
Hitting
the highway, I walked the grass verge until I got to the flyover, at
which point the verge ended and I stood there clueless as to how to
cross...The Perkins and the pancakes were calling. I stumbled back down
to the highway and ran accross the road to the centre dividing wall. It
was too high to scale, so, feeling the onset of rage, like Michael
Douglas in Falling Down (though I was just hangry really...) I went
back up to the flyover and phoned Dave, who was already in Perkins, for
advice.
He recommended walking along the little dividing strip in the middle
of the road. So I did. Cars beeping, laughing at the gombeen in the
middle of the road. Fuck y'all, I'm getting me some pancakes...
As I went into a rant about no-one walking anywhere in this fucking
country, the lads tell me they went to a diner next door to the hotel