this writing does not preorchestrate. it is an observation - it is the world of sights and sounds that surrounds the unsightly folk bathing in truck stop restroom sinks - it is the chime at the bus station that sounds of christmas music - it is the stories passed from drifter to drifter and it doesn't matter if they are true. the junkies and jackals wait for you in dirty cities and try to buy cigarettes off you for a dime. night time falls and from your window seat you watch the darkness play tricks on your eyes. none of us here are beautiful and we love without concern for beauty. we do not know what day it is and we are just a backpack full of memories.
i have no paper and i stole this pen from the driver; kerouac wouldn't mind me borrowing the blank sheets in the back of his book. when people are strangers traveling together they act on the better of community. food is shared and cigarettes are bummed without asking. some of these people are running to a new life but most are running away. and there is me - i am the one that has ran for so long that i can no longer sit still. a facebook message and 40 cent pay-by-the-minute internet leave me with my head against a greasy window slowly beginning to let my imagination come to a boil. we friends of traveling friends drop a line when we pass through each other's cities and wake no day where we last left off. i wonder if i'll make it home by the end of the month.
hitchhiking is much easier than you think. listening to a truck driver talk to you for hours about whore houses in mexico is not. i'm anxious and constantly paranoid. i think you can turn these emotions into good things. i'm told not to think too far ahead - i'm told this present moment is a gift and i'm grateful for it. the girl on the denver bus just smiled at me. i can find gratitude for that. she's really nice to look at. i can faintly hear the music coming from her head phones under her hoodie. i wish she was sitting next to me rather than the meth head with a broken wrist painstakingly trying to operate her cell phone. i'll be in denver in the morning. tomorrow i hitchhike through wyoming.. what the fuck am i thinking? istanbul soon.
"my batter is dying - i just wanted to tell you that i love you.. and i'm sorry.. hello?.. hello?.." she closes the phone and clutches her face in her dirty hands. she breaks into a thousand tears.