The Greyhound Station in Salt Lake

From photo batch review, May 2026. After the Range Rover exploded near Salina, Utah.

The Range Rover threw a piston through the bottom of the engine somewhere near Salina, Utah. I hitchhiked to Salt Lake City. The driver who picked me up was a Mormon who gave me a pitch and a copy of the Book of Mormon.

At the Greyhound station in Salt Lake, waiting for the bus. I was wearing tie-dye and red pants. I would not have picked me up.

While waiting, I heard about a local homeless man who regularly got arrested for urinating on the statue of Brigham Young outside Temple Square. The man apparently considered this a principled act of ongoing civic commentary.

I asked, genuinely: “Do we have time for me to do that before the bus leaves?”

We did not, or if we did, I did not act on it. The bus left.

Here’s the thing: I had been planning to go back to Los Angeles. Somewhere between Salina and Salt Lake — hitchhiking, in tie-dye, with a copy of the Book of Mormon — I decided to go to Portland instead, to visit Britt. The exploded Range Rover changed my itinerary, and the new itinerary turned out to be better.

In those clothes, I probably shouldn’t have been surprised that I got the Mormon.