San Francisco heading south. Summer ’08.
Contrary to the time tag, either delusion or nostalgia would have me believe I remember taking this some time much too early in the morning. I had just boarded a Greyhound bus for the first time in my life and was going south.
I also very vaguely remember an anonymous conversation, of the kind which you only seem to be able to have aboard an American Greyhound Bus. It’s female narrater Informed me of how Condolezza Rice, had in fact not always been the tyrannical high profile bore she turned into later in her career. And also forewarning me of the potential difficulty I could face should I meet any Mormons in Utah.
The validity of either piece of juxtaposed conversation has never really been proven to me since.