Most of my mistakes are in Laramie
In a motel room with a loose screen door
Banging randomly in the wind
And it’s windy and I’m waiting for the next bang
While trying to forget I just had the worst meal ever across the street
At a diner I can’t see anymore because of the dust–
There it goes, one loud crash like the gong that started those Charlie Chan movies.
Now, where did that come from? No way will I be able to sleep.
I’d go for a walk but I might go blind.
This will all pass, right?
(Backstory: In 1971 I was caught in a dust storm in Wyoming–smart enough to stop driving and dumb enough to pull into a rundown motel parking lot in Laramie.)