“Nobody’s going to want to sit on high-speed rail for fifteen hours to get from New York City to LA.”
Me. I will sit on high-speed rail for fifteen hours. I’ll sit on it for days. I’ll write and read and nap and eat and then do it all over again. I’ll stare out the windows and see America from ground level and not have to drive. I’ll see the Rockies and the deserts and cornfields and the Mississippi River and your house and yours and yours too. I’ll make up stories in my head about the small towns I see as we go along. I’ll see the states I’ve yet to see because driving or flying there is a fucking slog and expensive to boot. I’ll enjoy the ride as much as the destination. And then I’ll do it all over again to come the fuck home.
i thinkit would be cool if there was an omegaverse but for salmon instead of wolves. Like when the time comes certain members of society get really juicy musclewise and get yiffy fangs and are suddenly compelled to return to the neighborhood they grew up in and 96 hours later show up barefoot in full starvation mode and ravaged by walking through interstate traffic to fuck whoevwr smells the best in the local burger king. Then afterwards they die and disintegrate to be eaten by seagulls in the parking lot
When you’re an archaeologist with a set schedule, sometimes people really get to understand who you are
When I dug in France I always got a croissant at 0520 from the same exact place in Échemines. A week in, they had one lying on the counter for me by the time I walked in. By the second week I got the exact amount I’d pay in hand when I walked in, because they’d reliably have it ready. I made sure to tell the owners that I wasn’t returning on my last day of the dig.