On my way home to the island, I saw many uncanny things, a mixture of over-the-counter, drowsy medication with alcohol had the affect of producing wondrous waking dreams and dreamy wakes while sitting in the front of a rolling, rounded, square peg filled with chairs. Between Cache Creek and Hope at about 6ish in the morning, the landscape was for once, bereft of trees, an expanse of cool grey terrain with a two finger mark of a glossy black river and a dark, matte grey road. The soothing lack of contrast and our speed drove me back to sleep. I opened my eyes again, the brightness of the sun was brilliant, it illuminated the back of my skull, surprised my brian into working on seeing. I was amazed by the town of Hope. It seems to be a polished memory of a town made new in the past for today. The signage must have been constructed with a photomechanical technique no longer in vogue. Everything seemed to be the same height. The driver warned us not to leave the bus, or else we may move into this town and ruin it by our lack of time machines and good thoughts.
The morning light was generous to this place and the mountains seemed to not mind the town very much at all. Even later when we arrived in Chilliwack, that town looked good too, but alas it smelled of cow shit.