That's no rental truck, that's a space station

I have returned- and therein lies a tale.

We got on the road about 10 this morning, after a delightful breakfast of IHOP and a pickup of a Ilsa, She-U-Haul of the SS from Wonder Man. More on Wonder Man and Ilsa the thirty-foot behemoth later.

We crossed the border into Louisiana at 5:15 PM- the first time I had been back to the state since Katrina. It's been about six weeks. As Ursula, the sea U-Haul witch of the interstate, crested the bridge over Sabine river and Cat and I saw the mundane green sign announcing the state of Louisiana, we both broke out crying. It is a testament to my mad driving skillz that we maintained course down the bridge on the other side. I pulled off at the first exit and into a destroyed Shell station, next to an allegedly open casino called "Starz" (sic). I held Cat and she held me for several minutes while the tears came- I'm not sure that her parents grokked the act, but they understood and empathized. I grabbed a bit of dirt from a no-longer-landscaped bit of shubbery, and gazed at my home soil.

For real.

In the first chapter of Ilsa Rides Again, soon to be published by Scheissekopf GmbH this fall, we discover that the reservation Cat made a week ago and confirmed the day before had been let loose upon the world. I think of the original equipment as a cross between Botticelli's Venus and a twenty-four foot mermaid- the one that got away. Venus had air conditioning, I am sure. Wonder Man, whom we awoke within his establishment prior to the escape of the chariot of Venus, found us instead our Helga, the valkyrie-like, impregnable, thirty-four foot five inches from stem to stern, truck.

We drove off thinking the air would cool off. By the time we were on the other side of town, we realized out choices were slow-moving hot air from the vents or fast-moving hot air via the windows. We chose the latter, and I still have concert ears. Cat and I are quite a pair with our twin bandanas to keep the wind out of our eyes while we drove. I shall keep this picture secret until I offload images from the camera.

By the time we got to the city itself, it was a bit past midnight. The city's glow from down the spillway was noticeably dimmer than I recalled; the darkness and the night-time helpd to conceal much of the wounds of the city, though duct-taped refrigerators are a new form of life, not to be disturbed. I almost wish that we'd see a toxic zombie shambling down the street, but then I'd never hear the end of Cat's mom being right about wanting to bring in a shotgun.

And now, it is Time to get five hours' sleep before being physically and emotionally beaten tomorrow. More on the continuing voyages of Ilsa and the findings of the house tomorrow. The TP says mail is available for pickup in my ZIP code- so another errand needs to happen.