The air is familiar: coffee, small talk, country music and 24 hour pancakes. The land is dry like the toast of my BLT, served by a waitress

that has that distinct drall. A bit stoned from lunch break, she smiles with tobacco stained teeth and giggles at a joke she remembered from last night.

I am in the heart of a big country. Where old lava flows have made ghosts of forests and the snow peaks perk their dormant rage. I am about to find Obsidian, a mirror to protect and Knap into tools we have forgotten to use. I will be gathering in a chariot running off of dinosaurs bones. The modern age plays Willie Nelson across the diner skies.. I am from here, but know no one.. we all share the wink of Americana.