The other day I got a postcard postmarked Sundance, Wyoming. It's a picture of Devil's Tower and on the back someone has written:

"Strange! I've got this sudden craving for mash potatoes."

No signature. Nicely scribed in all uppercase block letters. If it were a computer font you'd call it smallcaps. No idea who it is. Pedraum? Haven't heard from him for a while.

Maybe it was Beck? He swung through Wyoming on his current tour. Or, as he put it:

I woke up in jackson hole, wyoming, land of ceaseless and senseless sky. the sun was whooping and the ponies were corralled. we were at some kind of highway side dude ranch, with life size statues of bear families frolicking all over the premises. we had to let our bus driver sleep, so we wandered around abandoned ski lifts and stared at the horizon the way settlers did when they were looking for home. how did they decide to stay in a specific place among the vastnes of raw land and possibility when travelling over infinite frontier? this was one of those places where you get a glimpse into the lonesome soul of early america. its difficult to imagine the state of mind. the remoteness and austerity would seem almost unamerican now. it probably felt more like rural bulgaria than wyoming.

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