Actual

I never did know quite where this or even I was going and the actual diary has never emerged, how could it? For the first chapter I have to go back to South America and my early years. As the laptop had not been invented I recorded things using simple paper and an IKEA pencil with occasional bursts of memory. I worked mostly on the theory that as time is/was eternal I could always get back to where I'd been, one way or another. At that point I hardly knew my traveling companion but I did wonder about him.

It should have been my final year at college, my graduation year but I could not face the return. It seemed that the last few hundred dollars in my wallet were burning a hole, the road and the mountains were burning the back of my mind and the huge sense of being on the edge of an undiscovered country burned into my soul. So I saw the car and bought the car, it was that simple. The story about the wooden piston is of course a myth but the back street garage vanished shortly after the transaction.