I will only address places I have been to since 2017 when I began traveling as part of the writing process. The place is horrible only to me, for my own standards, and is not necessarily more dangerous, even for me, then other places. While some nightmare places, like the auto-junk yard homeless camp that sprawls under the interstate from Emerryville to Oakland, California, are terrifying, if I have only seen the shithole from a distant vehicle, it does not count. Keep in mind that I have not been to most places and that I do not go looking for crappy places. From worst to only mildly horrific, places where I would be very nervous if arriving there in foot:

#1. Wilmington, Delaware, the six square blocks between the Pakistani Liquor store, the bus station, the KFC/Taco Bell, and the main street out of town up to the hill where all of the churches have refugee resettlement signs, passes a house that is so entirely barred in that it looks like a rusty human bird cage. If there is a fire, those people will roast. The liquor store was 100% behind bullet proof glass with firing ports with a T of death kill box—no cars on the parking lot, because no one that goes there drives.

#2. The homeless camp between Portland City Center, the Trimet Bus terminal and the Amtrak station, scared the shit out of me, as an older, smaller lone person among feral tribesmen who know I have no social shots to call in on my behalf from civil society, are homeless professionals, and that my slight belongings are all nicer than their junk.

#3. To the right of this camp, while heading for the bridge across the river to get to Southeast Portland, there is an industrial neighborhood. Under a train bridge, while trying to find Powell and get the hell out of there, my driver and I drove through a middle of the street homeless camp/chop shop. There was an open fire pit on the center line. There was an engine hoist being used to dismantle a new car. The looks on the tweaker faces said that we were trespassing and had a few seconds to move on.

#4. Frankford Avenue, just west of Sinclair Lane, in Northeast Baltimore, where, at 7: AM Sunday morning, a dozen Bantu warriors stand drinking malt liquor in the doorway of a liquor store that will not open until Monday, eye fucking me and deciding if I was worth the effort. This was just half a mile from where I found all of a petite woman’s clothes, a few bags worth, scattered on a weed cracked sidewalk overpass above U.S. Route 40.

#5. Manhattan, all of it that I traversed in 2017 and 2018 visiting Pat Dixon. This soul crushing matrix is so saturated with evil I cannot bear to consider returning. If Jennifer Lopez was proposing a one-night stand with me I would decline to visit.

#6. Brownesville, despite the hot Dominican chicks was just disgusting—no thank you, no return.

#7. Flushing Queens, a vapid example of Chinese colonization, hipster cuckmanifestation and Bantu criminalization, did not in any way feel dangerous, but reeked of the banal monstrous—ultra-American to the hilt.

#8. Park Slope Brooklyn was a perfect mix of deluded, progressive hipster shit bags, hideous buildings and small groups of predatory man-things of color, recommending it as negative on all counts, with the grinning monuments of a false past grinning down.

#9. Emmeryville, around the Knights Inn, where homeless tweakers camp by night, criminal Latinos in cars keep sentinel by day, and a car with its windows bashed in lets go its alarm and no one is stupid enough to stop and see, and when I look at it, the Latino hard-face in the untitled truck waiting in the adjacent driveway of an abandoned house, nods for me to keep moving.

#10. Rock Springs, Wyoming is ugly, barren, dusty, dry, possessed of a ramshackle evil and a hellish smell of sulfur, with empty, dust stained glass store fronts telling the passing motorist that you do not want to stay for lunch.

#11. York Pennsylvania, around the train station that has been converted into a hipster mall, where skulk Baltimore Bantus looking for weakness and fleeing from strength, letting you know that someone else, worse is waiting deeper in the bricked ghetto.

#12. Reading Pennsylvania, across from the Park, on the main street to the medical center, where the witch-hat row houses with their breezeways crawl with territorial Dominicans and Ricans, is a mystery meat mecca.

#13. Lancaster, PA, the neighborhood at the base of the hill down King, Queen and Prince Street from the train station, tot he right, just before you start to walk uphill through the warren of tiny shithole brick row houses to O’Holleran’s Irish-Dominican-Negro Bar, where two men of Gawdly hue did size me up in late morning and then backed off.

#14. Lancaster, PA, on the short diagonal grid across from the train station where vacant businesses and shithole dwellings contain feral, middle aged paleface drug addicts. Something about the vibe of this place told me not to walk here by night, as a walker can be spotted from an alley and intercepted by alley men darting through houses to the next street. It is too well suited for the hunt.

#15. Essex, Baltimore County, Maryland, along Eastern Avenue, from the Baltimore Brazillian Jiu-Jitsu club, about 7 blocks out to Middlesex and Fatties Bar and Grill, is the seediest example of suburban blight I have seen in my life. The shit I pulled down on the City Line, on Thursday, August 5 after the power outage, with my war club and four knives, when I challenged two Bantu muggers, one Bantu Kang and one Latino mugger in ten minutes, over two blocks, I would not have tried out here. But, here at least, in Essex, I still belong, rough looking, emaciated middle-aged white trash like me, walking without fear and taking the bus in a Black & Blue war zone.

#16: The Amtrak Platform in Toledo, Ohio, is the last place I would want to offload from a train by my self, at night.

#17. The main drag in Seattle Washington, around the corner from the train station, is packed with scores of big, negro bullies and grifters that are too soft to realize that they are about to be stabbed, and would put me on a crash course with the Seattle PD [King County Sheriffs], which is still a frightening organization.

Those are the shithole destinations that come to mind.