At the end of the last post I was setting course for Rhode Island and, in a shocking twist, that’s where I went. I have mainly been staying off the Interstates and highways to gawp more directly at the countryside as I passed, but this has led to some difficulties. Namely, the only law-abiding driver in America.
My first port of call after leaving New York was its neighbour Connecticut, which dubs itself the Nutmeg State, proving that they ran out of ideas pretty early. Connecticut is, of course, most famous as a manoeuvre in Connect Four when you realise you’re about to lose and karate chop the game off the table.
After four years of faffing about, half-made plans and half-arsed delays, after three passports, two visa interviews and one hurricane, I have finally made it to New York. Years of pop culture had instilled in me a lot of expectations: hectic masses of people, roaming crews of cameramen getting external shots for apartment sets in L.A. and groups of plucky white 20-somethings just trying to make it in the big city.
As well as people who are, in fact, walkin’ here.