I meet Sasha when she yells at me across a long-distance bus to ask what I’m reading. She spends most of her time driving around selling tie-dye and LSD at festivals and sometimes working as a mechanic. Later that week she picks me up in the city, in a van she converted to be livable. "If you’re parking in an RV the cops will check on you, but this is just a car, it’s incognito." We walk her dog and she complains about the cafe I propose to get coffee at. "Real coffee is what you get at a gas station, not this bullshit." A friend of hers is starting up a business so she wired him a few hundred. "We support each other." She doesn’t like the city, her ideal life is living in the hills farming pot.