NOTE: My COVID-19 posts are all over the chronological map for now; I'll number them down the road.
On Saturday morning, I set off for my legal home: Livingston, Texas.
This trip to Livingston – the planning, the doing, the arriving, the voting – I am one of a million or more on a pilgrimage to cast out the current, corrupt president who has subjected all of us to his verbal, emotional, physical-by-proxy, financial, and sexual abuse for the last four years.
But why not a mail-in vote, like I did for the primaries?
I dare say that the majority of my fellow pilgrims, like me, lost trust in the integrity of the mail-in voting process, thanks to the imperial ravings of Caesar Trumperius.
It was worth the 1000+ miles round trip for me to personally push some buttons on a machine.
At a rest stop along the way, I saw evidence that suggested a Caucasus Georgian family had also stopped there:
I consumed a picnic lunch at a Love's at that high-priced gas junction that is bookended by exits with more reasonable gas.
To slice my roast chicken breast and sweet potato, I employed the brand-new folding knife that my New Mexico friend sent me:
On Saturday night, I passed the night at a Flying J / Pilot truck stop near Shreveport, Louisiana. As with my maiden overnight earlier this year at another truck stop, it went seamlessly! To remind me that I was in Louisiana, there was this welcome sign:
On Sunday morning, a Louisiana friend visited me at the Flying J, and we gabbed for more than two hours on a grassy space at the truck stop, exchanging a careful but heartful masked hug at our parting. Gosh, it was good to see her! I think it had been five years since we saw each other in person, as we typically communicate via text.
Note: Speaking of Livingstons, let's take a commemorative visit to Livingston, Louisiana.
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