When I was on sabbatical, I would drive to Panacea and write a pamphlet of poems, and publish the pamphlet.

Brenda called these pamphlets I Drive To Panacea.

She thought my driving to Panacea was just a pretext to eat a fried mullet dinner at The Oaks.

Jim Harrison used to go on long drives, when he finished a book.

He would spend a lot of money in a strip-tease joint.

At least I didn't do that.

Driving makes me feel like a writer. Staying in motels, eating out. Attending street fairs and zine fests. Book conferences, where I am a presenter.

Plus now I am writing a book about driving around the Gulf Coast without driving around the Gulf Coast.

I'd like to drive around the Gulf Coast.

To have adventures and then write about them.

I guess I'll just have the adventures in my head, like Kerouac remembering his Columbia days in Vanity of Duluoz. From his tract house in St. Pete, where he died watching The Galloping Gourmet on television.

This visit, when I stopped at Tattered Pages, I was pleased to see that all of Rudloe's books are back in print. From Great Outdoors.

Timothy Weeks' The Wise Mullet of Cook Bayou was on sale.

The Wise Mullet of Cook Bayou, and all of Rudloe's books, were on sale in the gift shop at Gulf Specimen Lab.

No books by me, or Mac, but that will come. If we live.

Mac told me to go on a diet and lose a little weight.

If I'm rich and famous at 90 I can buy myself a new bicycle.

The important thing is to stay healthy and live, so I can see how things turn out, and write about it.

Mac says when he's 100 they'll put him in a wax museum with a sign around his neck that says, "Beloved American folk poet."

He'll be alive, propped up with a pair of shades on.

A pair of evil, Tonton Macoute shades.