Nomadland

It's my first day in Brooklyn. First stop is the vintage store, where I'll ask the cashier to direct me to the normcore section. Next, I'll mosey into the kava bar and motion to get everybody's attention. I'm so excited to request all their comments on EIP-4844: Shard Blob Transactions!

It's my first day in Denver, where I’ll be able to legally smoke marijuana. I'm going to go up to the biggest baddest Rastafarian on the street and split a fat blunt with him. Then we’ll stare up at the mountains and watch the tiny little skiers go down, all day long.

It's my first day in San Francisco. On the Discords where I learned of the existence of San Francisco, everybody says they’re an AI builder, so I’m not sure how I’m going to keep the numbers manageable for my reading group covering LSTMs up through the Attention Is All You Need paper.

It's my first day in Austin. I rehearse my speech. "Yippee-ki-yeehaw, pardner! My horse needs a safe, legal abortion!"

It's my first day in Los Angeles. It's my first day in Santa Monica. It's my first day in Pasadena. It's my first day in Long Beach. It's my first day in Glendale.  It's my first day in West Hollywood. It's my first day in El Segundo. It's my first day in South Pasadena. It's my first day in Burbank.

It's my first day in Miami. The commute to Disney World will be long and tiring, so I'll plan to hit the burrito stand first thing in the morning.

It's my first day in Boston. I’m going to stroll through TD Garden if the weather is nice. Whenever I see somebody in a lab coat I'll ask their advice. Should I sign up for Berklee College of Music, Northeastern University, South Station, or Beth Israel Deaconess?

It’s my first day in Berlin. I have my outfit all picked out: all black, studded belt, thick eyeliner, bat-wing cape, fingerless gloves. I hope I’ll pass dress code at the Reichstag and the former Prussian House of Lords, seats of Germany’s fascinating federal parliamentary republic system.

It’s my first day in Tokyo. Their transit system is second to none, and their zoning policy is famously builder-friendly, which is why Tokyo has one of the highest rates of new construction in the developed world. Finally, a place to dig my enormous hole in peace! I hear the Japanese are notoriously polite, so I can be pretty sure that nobody on the subway will try to steal my sacks of dirt that I dug out of the hole.

It’s my first day in Montreal. In the left pocket of my culottes I have a speech prepared for if I see Drake. In the right pocket I have a speech prepared for if I see Anaïs Nin. But I’m not totally sure my culottes aren’t on backwards.

It’s my first day in Lisbon. I have my outfit all picked out: all black, studded belt, thick eyeliner, bat-wing cape, fingerless gloves. I hope I’ll pass dress code at São Bento Palace, seat of Portugal’s fascinating semi-presidential representative democratic republic system.

It’s my first day back home at the coliving collective. While I was away, we traded our top fire spinner for a higher draft pick of next year’s Waterloo dropouts and a beanbag to be named later. Somehow, this means two strangers from Singapore are crashing on our futon. They’re chatting it up with the gonzo journalist still accidentally on Vice’s payroll who’s subletting my walk-in closet. Everybody looks up as I burst in.

“Guys,” I exclaim, “I have this vision for a networked global community...”