Douglas Coupland. Life after God (№ 211534)

Your mother and I were honeymooning like tramps, walking on broken-down "Monte-Carlo" in 1978, rented. We stayed in a dirty, questionable motels on all Appalachian and imagined themselves as the criminals, mired in a world of crime,- we are held hostage of artificial satellites, cranked religious telaafar and down along the glass facade of the "Caesar's Palace" with the Adidas bags stuffed with stolen diamonds. In North Carolina we bought a gun and fired on road signs; we refused baths and showers, Priska under mouse "Eternity" Calvin Klein, we have lost money in Church lotteries and ate catfish, fried in boiling fat. It was ten days when it was not necessary to be yourself when you could be invisible and free.