December 20, 2004

Dear Mr. Bush,

500 more miles logged, our dog can barely keep hear head up, crashed out on the carpeted floor of Janice's parent's house. She looks up with these comically red eyes, as we call her name and laugh at just how tired she looks, secretly knowing that we look the same. I'm not sure what it is about driving, but just sitting there--your leg pinned to the gas pedal, the distance streaking by you as you slice across the country--is enough to drain every ounce of energy from you. But now that we're here, it's nice to know that the pillow I'm about to rest my head on is the same one I'll be using for a week.

To staying put,



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