On The Road...

I lost my passport.

Sometime between May 27 and May 28th, 2007.
Somewhere between Virginia and Nebraska.
Stopped on a nameless highway trying to prevent my bladder from exploding into fireworks of coffee infused Redbull.


There was no Peyote or Kerouac or Jack of any sort.
I could deceive you into believing that the trip was a dream chasing endeavour wrought with the romanticism of an en route epiphany...
I could manipulate the truck-stop-reality into an undulating water globe of moonlit gravel roads...
I could momentarily suspend your disbelief...


But there was no zen or motorcycle or art...


There was a girl in an Oldsmobile with a passport...At least, until there wasn't.


Friends...
The passport would never have liberated itself from my possession if I'd been packing the following:





































Yes...

It's called the "Cleavage Caddy."

Although it's being marketed toward the bar and club-fly constituency, I think it's perfect (No essential) for travellers.

How many times do you find your IN-TRANSIT self almost dutifully peeling down your bottom attire in an unsavory rest area?

Now...

How many times do you see the need to remove your bra on the road?

Exactly.