The Living Rockumentary

The five of us were all waking up from the same dream. A new ice-age had started. Freezing blasts of whiteness were blowing down through Canada. The front reached the Great Lakes and picked up speed and force, blowing icy-snow sideways across the flatlands of Indiana.

Zoom down from a satellite image of these enormous lakes and land masses. Zoom down through the clouds and the mass of whiteness. Zoom in closer on a stretch of highway moving horizontally along the southern coast of Lake Erie. Closer still onto a loan white mini-van blowing back and forth being while being battered with streaming snow and wind.

There we were, the five of us, inside this van in APRIL, driving, as fast as felt was safe, past cars that had carreened off of the white-washed road. We were tired from a short not-so-sound sleep and a little spacey from no breakfast-yet. The music was the only solid thing to grasp on to as 18 wheelers sped past, throwing walls of snow and cold onto our windows.

And then we woke up.

We busted across the border of New York, leaving the lake-effect behind us. Harry Nilsson was singing about New York City, the volume was up, a patch of blue sky broke through the clouds, and Ken exclaimed, "I love music."