on the road to hell (ena, Montana)

I helped move my friend Tom this weekend. He moved to Hell ena, Montana. What a Pit that place is, though better now that Tom is there. I can't help but think that he won't last long and the Cavalry is occupied elsewhere. Tom, watch your back. You are in the pit of vipers. A single drop of rain in a vast and thirsty desert.
Needless to say, I do not have fond memories of Hell ena. My first impressions rapidly faded to a grimace, a toleration at best, a smile that hides a grim churning in the stomach. The place oozed desperation and a palpable deterioration of not only the infrastructure, but of spirit; a resignation and forlorne stand against the invasion of the culture snatchers. History replaced by pop culture, identity with fake names and logos stamped on every crappy plastic bowl and synthetic fiber shirt. It is the future, my friends, and it looks like the party is over. Only the hangover remains.
Montana is the Spanish name for Mountain. They have plenty of those, there. The very western part is absolutely stunning. It is the bleedout from Eastern Idaho, the mistake made when arbitrary boundries were drawn. Idaho should have gotten the whole Mountain range and Montana should have been called Plaintana. The towns of Kellog and Wallace were stunning. In the winter they probably are a frosty hell, sunk deep into a crevasse between sun-blocking mountain ranges. In the summer we search for firewood, the cold is coming all too soon. These are old mining towns and typify the American tantrum of nature destruction at-all-costs, damn the consequences. The ground and streams are hopelessly contaminated for hundreds of miles and as each day passes, with every drop of rain, this contamination spreads downstream, a slow disaster that will plague generations to come. Can you say C-a-n-c-e-r?

The trip was all business. Three hard days of driving with two nights of vague sleep in nondescript hotels. The best part of these hotels will always be the way they look from the outside. It is better to look good than to feel good, haha. I have of course stayed in some bad hotels in my travels, beds with vicious poking springs in dungeon-like rooms, mean and awfull, cheaper than plastic forks at Wallmart. I got what I paid for, though. If you want charm you have to avoid the Interstates and stay out of Macdonalds.
Talking to my friend Ed, he mentioned to me that he went to Tacoma, a place I knew well, as I spent ten years in exhile there. He had a hankering for a real milkshake, the kind that was honestly served in a mom-n-pop store in years past. He searched and searched without end. All these places where you could start a leisurely conversation, where time stood still instead of being money, are now gone, like the dinosaurs. Instead we have settled for efficiency and economy. Our wallets squeeze out good sense and good manners. I saw grinding poverty in Mexico, but only in the cities did I see squalor, viciousness and hunger.
What did Tom say? to paraphrase: They might not come from the gutter, but by God, if you treat them that way, they might as well have (come from the gutter). Goodbye,Tom.