Maybe I can be one of those photographers who take pictures of old dilapidated signs on Route 66. Then I’ll start wearing black leather jackets and grease my hair back. And I’ll buy an old car from the 1950’s, fix it up, and drive the mother road. . . all the way to L.A. I’ll seek out the greasiest diners, the lonliest truck stops, and the cheapest motels.

On second thought, I’d rather stay home.