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In a rainstorm down interstate five

My car is like a boat at sea again

The (northern) suburbs of the city slide past

Like the twin coasts of a fjord-like river in fog

Short of roots and reasons I made long drives eastward

To find a history that would somehow fit my case

Coming back now drifting to the exit lane

I’m going home, I’m coming home

Right now

Then driving along the north bank of Lake Union

Where the high bows of the big ships touch the street

Old Russian factory trawlers

Being moored to the same spot long ago

The Russian ships came in for a winter refit

The ruble sank crew’s wages went unpaid

The ships landed up in some marshals’ sales

And more Russian seamen joined the underclass

In this town

People came over

People went broke

Left their homes

And moved elsewhere

So this is America

Where everyone has the right

To fail

The right to fail

Short of roots and reasons making long drives eastward

To find a history that somehow fits my case

Now just make a right, westward for Queen Anne

I’m going home, I’m coming home

And nothing left to say

Words from the book "Bad Land" by Jonathan Raban used with kind permission of the author.