My host has the largest anarchist library in the southeast in a solid metal trunk. Next to his loaded shotgun.
One of the couchsurfers is an emotional counselor. Naturally, I get in a debate with him about my lack of emotions. Also naturally I get in a discussion with him about hallucinogenic drugs and ways to turn a bathtub into a gravity bong.
Another has a page from a Jack Kerouac book tattooed on his back.
Yet another is a girl from Memphis who likes to pierce herself and has an obsession with spiders. We got along swimmingly.
And finally, there’s the guy who grew up with the emotional counselor and is currently fucking the piercing girl. That’s all I can really say about him.
Oh, and did I fail to mention they’ve all dumpster dived for food, have all gotten high on cough syrup, and really love cats? Right, and now they’re bumming with me to the Smokies.
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