motor home.

it's my dream, i say.

my friend says, all we need is a nice camera and about twenty-eight thousand dollars.

but how will we get the money? i ask. we'll both be in debt up to our ears.

they won't be able to find us if we're one the road all the time, she says.

i say, they definitely won't be able to find us if we're dead. let's get some death certificates and release our student loans, hang low for ten years then smack, break out our footage of traveling all over north america. and to make money we'll take odd jobs like drifters do. you know, washing dishes for a meal or helping an elderly coupld move firewood for a hot shower.

who does that? asks my friend.

american nomads, i say. i think they exist. or maybe they're just called homeless people. i saw it on mtv once. but, when will we be able to visit our families?

whenever we want, she says. we will be lawless.

i don't think i could ever be that free, i say. lawlessness scares me.

me too. i want kids and a house and a dog, she says.

i know, me too, i say. but i would do it, though.

i know, she says.

that would be amazing, though.

i know.