Louisiana

Some of us actually grow old and die here.

The roads wind between oceans of oaks and pines, as if the asphalt itself were something organic. Even our cities grow out of the forests. A good drive would make you forget yourself if the treeline, like most good things, weren't being strangled back by the locals. The faded green and brown always waits just off the shoulder of the road, often separated by nothing but a few inches of gravel. They seem to roll on forever, crowding around with nothing better to do than gawk at pick-up trucks and shelter wildlife. Most locals, however, are born with some sort of contempt for the natural beauty of this place. Every treeline is broken over and over by trailer houses, oil pumps, industrial metal buildings, and other scars of industry. Marring up our natural resources is big business.