What if all the maps are lying?
What if a long time ago there was an agreement among the people with the sort of power to make such agreements, that there was to be no mention of the other continent?
The secret continent.... Where all the spoils end up.
What if everyone is in on it, except you?

And another thing:
Montana is amazing. It is beautiful, and strong. The people seem raw, and vibrant. But it is not the last best place. I can not accept that.

So I sit in a hotel room in Forsyth... Check that; a motel room. I talk on the phone, I order flowers for a girl in New york, and I lie here and dream with my eyes open. Maybe the next best place, but not the last. My life is better than it has ever been. I would not be anywhere else right now if I could chose to.

I am writing about nothing/myself again. Hopefully A new author will come save me from this indulgence soon.

The buildings I saw today have a history unknown to me. Almost every building I admired in Forsyth was built in 1907. That must have been quite the year here. I sat in a restaurant and tried to soak in some of the stories that have been set there. I got a little essence, but not as much as I would have liked to. This town knows it's worth. It doesn't put out for just anyone.

There are broken sidewalks, and sunsets. There are baseball games, and jars of string beans. There are grandmas, and fourth of July parades. I think the kids play kick the can.

A town like this has a personality, a little shy, but eager eyes, and salty skin.

Tomorrow I leave, and I may never stay here again. But I got to know it just a little. Not the last best place, but one of them perhaps.