o one would ever describe our time in the Midwest as insane, or as decadent. That was the beginning, that first road trip, when we were still truly and completely unknown, aside from the hypertext. Weeks later, we would remember that time as one of innocence, as one of hunger. There was fire in our bellies and we were looking for readers. Our budget was shoestring, and our ride was not luxurious. We had to rely on friends, old teachers, people we knew tangentially, for food and places to crash. But we made every appearance, in those early days, just as scheduled, by hook and crook, fixing breakdowns with duct-tape, fixing bored miles of corn with word games and laughter. We didn’t know how we would make it from one day to the next. A bowl of ramen and a six-pack of Bud was a kingly feast back then. We had to be creative with our time, not knowing what would come, relying on words for our sustenance. How I long for those days of disorder, of hunger, of facing down the unknown!