The problem with living in a place for any extended period of time is that you cannot get lost anymore.

I moved to New Jersey eight months ago, and three months after that I acquired my car. (And a huge ass debt to the evil capitalist bankers. Vive La’ Revolucion. You can call me Comrade Rajneesh. I’ll be communist like Psmith, who believed that practical communism involved grabbing as much as a person could and then sitting on it.

I could be a good communist. Not the riff-raff proletariat, but a member of the politburo. One of those who defend the masses from the corrupting influence of capitalism, using their bodies to insulate the proletariat from luxury and decadence.

And it would allow me to do one of the things that I have longed for ages to do. Kick a door in. I’ve always wanted to kick a door in. I dream at night of doors that I could kick in.

I’m not quite sure what one does after kicking in a door. I fear I would probably be embarrassed and apologize to the people on the other side of the door. Or I might whistle nonchalantly and point unobtrusively to my dicey looking sidekick.

You need to have sidekick if you are kicking in doors. I do believe that not having one would cause a rip in the fabric of space time. They have to be dicey looking. You cannot have a sidekick who looks like a fine upstanding member of the community. We do not want Dr. Jeykll, we want Mr. Hyde.

I’d prefer a silent sidekick, not the one picked for comic relief. I’d rather have a grim brooding one. One who looks like his wife just ran away with a randy toaster. No quick quips or amusing eccentricities from my sidekick. I’ll be doing all the quipping and the eccentricity-ing.

We’d be a dynamic duo. Just no tights, and no homo-erotic undertones.

Maybe a female sidekick. Naturally hot. Because I’m a sexist pig. She’d still have to be silent (Desperately stifles urge to make incredibly sexist joke), because I insist on doing the quipping and taking care of the banter. She can do the whipping of the bad guys or the re-education of the proletariat (Though the proletariat may like being whipped by a hot sidekick. I know I woul…Never mind.)

(Boy, this is a long ass digression.))

So…getting lost and stuff. Good Shit.