Fort Collins

Katie is a cat lady.  And a cat lady is a nemesis to the band, no matter how sweet, how generous, and how amiable a person is.  The Ben’s will never fully accept a keeper of cats.  Meow.  We hate our allergies. 

As we drive through Nebraska, I reflect on our time spent in Colorado.  To quote Lera Lynn, “Colorado is possibly the worst climate for a South Eastern bred singer for two reasons. 1: It’s dry.  2.  I can’t hold my whiskey.”  To quote me, “I’m from Colorado, I love it here, please stop talking about the altitude.”  One actual downside about Colorado, no Bank of America, which has led me to invent a game.  It’s a race.  First person to find out where I am, kill me and take my wallet wins way more cash than anyone should ever carry in a wallet, much less a child Velcro wallet. 

Nebraska is a perfect state for pondering questions in ones head.  Can my pin number be 5 numbers long?  If so should I switch my pin to P-I-Z-Z-A?  How much do stuntmen make a year?  How far away can Chicago be?  If someone killed me and took my wallet, how long until they guessed P-I-Z-Z-A?  I wonder what Lera’s pin is. 

You know what?  Nebraska is pretty.  We’re 82 miles from Kearny. 

You have until 12PM, 8-8-12 to kill me.

Meow!

My first burrito of the trip.  Today I had the privilege to watch a man eat a burrito, and then begin and encore burrito!  10:40 AM.  Fort Collins, Colorado.