Right now I'm sitting in a cold RV in Williamsburg, and I've somehow managed to hack into someone's wireless network. What can I say, I'm straight-up Swordfish.
Here is A Place To Bury Strangers' home for the next five and a half weeks. It's a sweet '95
Arrowhead Coronado. It's a trooper, as I discovered driving it from South Jersey (as in almost Delaware) to Connecticut last night. A 3 hour drive turned into 7 as I watched a never-ending stream of crashes, slides and all sorts of shitty driving on the Garden State. The Coronado lived up to its name though, navigating the nasty terrain and unfriendly natives with ease.
Tomorrow we hit Cleveland for the first show of the tour. Fitting, as it's the home of rock and roll. And, um, it really does bury strangers. (Check that out, it's pretty scary.)
Well my battery's about to die, so I leave you now to wander the streets. Or find the closest bar. See you in Cleveland.
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