In his New York Times bestseller Carsick, John Waters chronicled his cross-country hitchhiking trip, setting out from his home in Baltimore, Maryland, and traveling one-ride-at-at-time to his co-op apartment in San Francisco. It was a rollicking tale – at times even a touching one – as he divided the book into three sections: his fantasy of what he hoped the adventure would be like, his fantasy of what he feared it would be, and what actually transpired.
Waters and I are friends, having hung out together often in Provincetown, Massachusetts, where he also has a home and where I summered for many years.
I met with him at his fourth home, a tasteful apartment in New York’s West Village where we were surrounded by his keen-eyed collection of art and photography by, among others, Nan Goldin, Mike Kelley, Richard Tuttle, Larry Clark, and George Stoll.

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