I’ve never been to Arkansas. Never knew anything about it. Still don’t. The first memorable thing I did in the state was forget my laptop in the apartment I slept at last night. And I didn’t realize it until 15 miles down the road. Worst merch dude ever. But if the Customs guard from Montreal is reading this, what I meant to say was, ‘Worst friend-on-tour-doing-nothing-and-gaining-no-benefits dude ever.’ That is me.

I am traveling with four to ten people I have never traveled with before. Only one I’ve had the honour of spending hours with, swapping odours and cynicisms with. A group of ten men, two vans, many meticulously coloured arms, legs and necks. Spending their youth. With care and thought. Eyes and minds in love with music. Eyes and minds hypnotized by the soft luminescence of computerized devices to stay connected, to stay entertained, to stay sane.  The chance to stay connected with home can disconnect a traveler from where they are. But sometimes it is best to forget where you are. Like in Arkansas for example.

Spending youth like a precious mineral. It is one wealth that when stored, might cause bankruptcy.