Her smile is fond, nostalgic. Like she's gained enough distance that she can see certain quirks from both sides. "Yeah, and that wasn't even considered a long trip," she snorts. "Fifteen hundred miles was maybe a week-long road trip, if there were two people to drive. A day and a half each way's drive. Ish. Took me about two months to walk it."
It's hard for her to say whether she liked it. When she lived there, she'd never known there was anything else out there, and she comes from the worst possible outcome, so there's nothing worth going back to. And she can't rightly say whether she would go back to a version of her world that avoided Captain Trips -- her life had also been pretty shitty them. But she loved her world enough to miss it now, for it to make Abraxas seem small and hopelessly backward.
Sometimes she wonders if she should miss it more, if she's terrible for not. So she doesn't think about her world more than she needs to.
Julie, being incredibly high, immediately becomes as absorbed in his images as if it really was a movie, like she's in a theater. Ketterdam is somehow both foreign and familiar at once; while she has never seen anything remotely near it herself, it reminds her of television, of movies, of pictures. Things set in indeterminate European cities before people numbered in the millions. It's fascinating.
"The last thing I ever need to see again is a farm," she says, though the response takes a minute to break through her trance. "I'm from farm country. They all look the same after the hundredth."
no subject
It's hard for her to say whether she liked it. When she lived there, she'd never known there was anything else out there, and she comes from the worst possible outcome, so there's nothing worth going back to. And she can't rightly say whether she would go back to a version of her world that avoided Captain Trips -- her life had also been pretty shitty them. But she loved her world enough to miss it now, for it to make Abraxas seem small and hopelessly backward.
Sometimes she wonders if she should miss it more, if she's terrible for not. So she doesn't think about her world more than she needs to.
Julie, being incredibly high, immediately becomes as absorbed in his images as if it really was a movie, like she's in a theater. Ketterdam is somehow both foreign and familiar at once; while she has never seen anything remotely near it herself, it reminds her of television, of movies, of pictures. Things set in indeterminate European cities before people numbered in the millions. It's fascinating.
"The last thing I ever need to see again is a farm," she says, though the response takes a minute to break through her trance. "I'm from farm country. They all look the same after the hundredth."