Travel is a wonderful thing. As the miles roll by, your mind gets to roaming and telling stories about roadsigns and road warriors. The scenery is the catalyst as your mind makes up details to fill the time.

That's what happened when we passed the exit for Newfoundland on our biannual migration across Pennsylvania. Images from seeing Twelfth Night the night before and reading Martin Eden, transmuted the text of the road sign from Newfoundland to Newfoundlove. From there I imagined a place where people were sent when they diagnosed as being hopelessly in love. You see, in this fictional universe, being madly in love was found to be distracting to accomplishing productive work. So it is a condition to cure. So the town of Newfoundlove is something like a concentration camp where lovers come to have the condition of love mediated into something that is not disruptive to society.

Newfoundlove is an idea I think I'll noodle for a while. I think there is a story in there somewhere and it might be fun to find.