Riding The Bus With Joan Crawford 10 am Tuesday Morning: Camden New Jersey, San Francisco Bound. Getting on the Greyhound Bus With you Joan Crawford. Seeing silhouettes of Severe hair rounded high With no nonsense glamour Of chiseled cheekbones And shoulder pads of Dream factory reinvention. 4 pm Wednesday Afternoon: Rolling through Dayton, Ohio on interstate 70. "Is there enough room in the seat?" I wonder aloud. Wearing my headphones radio As we cross the mighty Missouri With a Kansas City backdrop Of 24 hour laundromats And penny arcade roller derbys. The bus is like a traveling theatrical company The woman one seat back brushes her hair As the boy across the aisle plays a video game. "Can I sit here, little lady?" ( pronounced with a squeaky drawl ) That rancher from Iowa! He had some some nerve, I'll say. And don't forget those newlyweds Who got on in Chicago. 3 pm Thursday Afternoon: Now we're entering Reno, Nevada "The Biggest Little City In The World" Joan, did you know they have slot machines In the powder rooms here? Suddenly we're whizzing past Wyoming And gliding through The garages of Sacramento Dotting the freeways With midnight tire sales In paradise alleys. 1 am Friday Night: The Golden Gate Bridge is beckoning up ahead. There's the city, Joan we've made it! And there's the TRANSamerica Pyramid All lit up, beaming brightly. Are you ready for your close up? Let's take some pictures, where's your camera? Joan, I've been meaning to tell you You're the dearest… Joan? Joan? Now where did she go?