If I could I would fly to Alabama and marry a waitress at a diner. We would go to church every Sunday and we would go shopping at a supermarket. At the parking lot, the windows on all cars would shine in the sun, and the air would smell of rubber and asphalt. The car would have fake leather seats that would stick to the clothes a little, and I would wear a press-button shirt. My American wife would drive a little faster than I'd dare, and we would always use our seatbelts. We wouldn't feel that we were at home all that often, we would always have different projects to run to. We would sleep in one bed, but just as often at a motel as in our own. We would both love to go to places where palm trees grow, and we would get butterflies in our stomaches whenever we went into town. Both of us would find it a bit uncomforting to step out of the car, but when we'd been sitting in the café just outside for a while, we would soon have forgotten all about it.
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