2/1/11
Felicia asked me if we are going to tour this summer. I said I didn’t want to do a van tour. Not after what happened to Makh. I already woke up every five minutes (during a fifteen-hour overnight drive to the next venue) thinking that my life was going to end because the driver put a bit of pressure on the brakes. I’ve already spun around two different times on an icy freeway in a van and trailer, seeing cars whiz by, praying that no one would crash into us while we free-spun at God-knows-how-many miles per hour. And I never wore my seatbelt; no one did. I don’t want to spill out of the windows, my friends giving my toothless, blood-soaked face and lifeless body CPR in vain on the side of the freeway. I don’t want to go like that.
Felicia said that she had to go talk to her friend. I didn’t see her for the rest of the night.
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