From the interstate, 90% of America is effectively the same hedgerow, interspersed with the same strip mall. I suspect strip mall architecture, like the 747 and the BSD kernel, is one of those mid-twentieth century engineering stop-gap measures that has seamlessly slid from temporary stand-in to workhorse to cultural motif.
The highway interchange connecting Houston to Texarkana smells like cabbage and natural gas. Surely no one is surprised by this.
Arkansas is bigger than you expect it to be. It might be a tardis.
The nickname of Arkansas is "the Natural State." In the sort of ironic move one expects of the United States, it has devoted its southern half almost entirely to poorly regulated heavy industry.
There is a young man in Little Rock driving a Honda Prelude that must be a full decade older than himself. At the remarkable, seemingly impossible, speed of ninety-five miles an hour, its heavily modified and egregiously abused exhaust system emits a brutal, death metal vocal solo sound like a buzzsaw being mounted by an amorous yak.
Walt Whitman and I love this young man quite tenderly, and we admire his courage, even if it is born of ignorance.
Somewhere in the Arkansas alluvial plain, there is a place where massive aerials and giant steel signs bearing the ancient brand XXX sprout. They bloom in the same shade of red. There may have been some cross pollination. Please don't touch your dials.
Tennessee smells of paraffin.