I saw a street of old houses today. This isn’t really noteworthy I suppose, all the houses on all the streets are quickly becoming old.

Either broken into, burned up, or simply weathered- It's pretty surprising how little time needs to pass before houses turn.

It was a string of weathered houses this time.

And I don’t know if it was the street, the style of houses, or just something about me, but I couldn’t stop myself from crying.

This one house- I think it was weathered white with peeling red shudders. The colors were almost completely muted from the dust, but here and there you could see what it probably used to be.

It looked nothing like my old home, but somehow it reminded me so much of it.

Of painting the moltings with my father. Of patching the roof, cutting the grass.

Upkeep, he called it.

It was part of what turned my old house into my home.

This was just a house that I was looking at. Maybe not even that. With no tenants maybe it could only be called a building.

Looking at the dust-covered, paint-pealed shudders; I couldn’t imagine it or any of the other buildings ever being called home again.

And so I cried to myself, for myself, for us all.

For we may find places to stay, but will we ever call any of those places home?

I can't get a piece of song out of my head.

An old, half forgotton tune from long before.

A couple of words looping through my head over and over, never getting to the next part.

Did I even ever know the next part?

I don't know. I don't even know who sang it.

If I spot an Idol on the road, maybe I can ask- usually they can pick out a tune from half remembered lines. That talent always amazes me. Tone deaf phrases are belted at them and like the old Mthree players they'll call up the song from memory and sing and dance it for you.

But that's how they eat, how they find shelter

Sometimes how they avoid trouble from others.

I guess if I was an Idol I'd remember lyrics better too.

I wouldn't even mind it if one of them couldn't remember the lyrics, just hearing something else would be so nice.

Something else to be in my head.

As it stands, all I hear is "Woah! there will be snacks, there will, there will be snacks!"

And to distract me from this?

The wind blows and a rusted metal sign taps against its post.

I could use a snack…

Not that I’m complaining, I prefer going it alone.

If I didn’t, I could have joined up with one of The Communities.

Well, not so much The Communities themselves- If you weren’t part of The Fed or The Biz when they began or you weren’t born into them, there’s no way you’re getting in.

But there’re always the barnacle towns right outside the gates.

They get the skim from The Communities; they even have power a couple hours a week.

But I just can’t stand to live next to the walls- always wondering what’s it like inside, knowing I’ll never find out.

I’d rather walk in hopes of finding something better.

My dad would be proud; the american dream is alive and well.

Unless the Second Comers get me...

Plastic.

It really is amazing stuff.

I’ve been using the same water jugs for years now and they’ve yet to let me down.

The grass is dry but the ground beneath me is lush and green- astraturth- plastic shavings.

A windmill spins for no reason. The blades are brittle to the touch but still turning- Plastic.

A cracked dragon tattooed with tags of previous visitors stands guard over the 18^th hole.

Its plastic eyes shine in the sun.

If what they always said was true about plastic then some day when we’re all gone; someone will come along and discover our mini gulf courses, and try to decipher meanings from small Eiffel towers and spitting fish.

I tag the dragon as well and leave this webdress in case someone else stops by.

A three foot hot pink sphinx for the pharaohs of the road.

Does anyone remember the Good Old Days?

The days when anything was possible.

When it was safe to walk down most streets in the daylight- some even at night.

When acid rain, global warming, rising ocean levels and superstorms were called theories. Possibilities. Pressing but avoidable future threats.

When gas powered so much and cost only $6 a gallon.

When it could be purchased with money.

Do you remember money?

Do you remember the cities lit up at night, blazing away like beacons of life to welcome travelers from far away?

Burning away, rows upon rows of towering glass and light. Beautiful but devouring.

Does anyone remember these days?

Or am I alone with memories of a happier time?

Memories of a time that brought us to now.

I spotted another pack of wild dogs today. Thankfully they didn’t catch whiff of me.

One of the problems with traveling solo is an inability to fend off packs.

Of anything.

It amazes me that we used to keep them as pets- but they were gentler then- and there were smaller kinds.

But they’re gone.

You’d never see a pack of wild chiwalla’s.

The gentle just don’t survive.

It's time to tighten an old belt as the folks used to say-

Of course they meant less things, less trips, less nights out, less clothes.

Not exactly the same for me. I mean it more literally, haven't found enough to eat for a while now.

Maybe someday I'll find an actual belt to tighten. I found an inner-tube to a bike tire - I've cut and tied it around my waist.

There were these groups of people once "Back Then" who were against using animals for food and everything... Veaggin's or something. My sister was one I guess and she had all of these books on how to be cruelty free and stuff. So she would read the books and then bring home fake meats, and not-cheeses products, and purses made out of old billboards. And one day she brought home a pair of pants made out of old bike tires.

I thought it was stupid.

So now I sit here wearing recycled bicycle stuff, but I'd never say I'm saving the earth. I'm just trying to live on it.

And I don't eat meat but rarely, but it's not because I'm a Veaggin person. I'm not. I only get to eat what I can. See, I'm an Opportunist.

We all are nowadays.

We have to be.

I found you…

Sifting through the wastes of … what was this? The Maul. That's what my father called it. "Come on son, we're going to The Maul"

It was one of those places, where you could find things. Buy things. It seemed like anything. Anything you wanted was there. But that was when I was younger, and I just wanted what I wanted. Now I'm older and I'm looking for what I need and The Maul is emptied, except for racks that once held clothing, bins that carried candies, and posters of the things that once were here, of things that people wanted… but only wanted.

Empty promises of wants fulfilled, still selling the idea that wants and needs are the same. I was about to leave, disgusted and empty-handed.

And then I found you.

Slim in design, easy to carry, touch screen, with on screen keyboard, camera, GPS, wireless- for whatever good those features do nowadays- and best of all, powered by your own solar.

And I'm giddy. I remember when every few years, the latest version of you would come out, and the lines that would form around blocks.

Like the lines nowadays, but happier. Because it was still for something that we only wanted.

I don't need you either- the wireless feeds sputter on and off of their own accord, the GPS sat system has been down for years. And when I see a group of strangers approaching, the last thing that I'm going to do is ask them to get together for a photo op.

But still, I'm giddy. Because I always wanted you. And hey, you won't take up any space, and I don't need to plug you into my own solar.

And I can write my thoughts out as I walk. Because maybe somebody, somehow will be able to pick up this feed. Maybe I'll connect with someone else out there- they'll read me, agree, argue, dismiss, laugh at, cry with, care for…

You are a want. Plastic and metal, from all-too-quickly fading science. But you make me hope.

I'm glad I found you.