Last week, I took a slow road trip through Eastern Washington—the North Cascades highway, the Grand Coulee Dam (did you know about its laser light show?), the stark and rattlesnake-y rangeland of the Potholes, the Colville and Yakima Yakama Reservations, half ghost/half living towns (undead towns?) where small businesses were still running out of 19th-century buildings, the scablands, Hanford, and beyond.
The Grand Coulee Dam laser light show: There's a whole college thesis in there about the "chaos" of "nature" and manifest destiny.
The Electric City city hall.
This is also a place where fried chicken gizzards can meet your mouth.
The words at this motel were in the parking lot—a young woman was talking to a middle-aged woman (her mom? Her roommate?) who was sitting behind the wheel of a car, so I couldn't hear her part of the conversation. Both of them were smiling, but tightly:
Young woman: ... but do not go gambling!
Middle-aged woman: [...]
YW: Do not gamble!
YW: No! No gambling! We always lose. We always lose!
YW: First we're up and we think we're badass and then we always start losing.
YW: I'm serious. Please! No gambling!
I'm pretty sure they both knew the MAW was going to go gambling.
Some of the best places on the trip had no words at all—none to read and none to hear.