Flood Magazine

On an overnight train between Milwaukee and Seattle, I had been sitting next to Andrew, a twenty-something felon covered in tattoos—including an "East" and a "West" on opposing hands and an "LA" symbol on the back of his skull. Andrew had lost his job as a mechanic in Miami and was fleeing to Washington State, where he hoped to pick up work in a lumber mill.

Our train had been stopping periodically, and we had got off at almost every stop to stretch our legs. Late in the day, Andrew and I deboarded somewhere on the western edge of Montana. I had brought cigarettes with me—as I do only when I travel—and we smoked a few out in the clean, fading sunlight.

All around us was beauty; leafy maples, squat lodgepole pines and wildflowers. Down the dusty road that ran along the tracks, a hotel rose out of the forest. “Beautiful here,” I said. Andrew agreed. Exhaling smoke, he added, "I could see myself ending up in a place like this."

And this is the New America—for our generation this country has become a place of mobility and uncertainty. It is again a place where jobs and houses are tenuous, temporary and fleeting. But this New America is also a place where there is room for greatness. We are the first undefined generation. We are not Flower Children or Generation X. We chafe at being called Generation Y or, heaven forbid, Millennials. We are the New America.

And we at Flood Magazine want to tell you what it’s like to live in this New America. Like Andrew in Montana, we can see ourselves fitting in here.

Kevin Shalvey, Editor