I have this constant dream I shouldn't be where I am. Instead I should be on the road, wandering about with a day pack slung over each shoulder. One holds my imagination, the other words I own. When something strikes me as interesting I match the contents of the two and that becomes my tale.
What am I doing here besides living on a slow burning debt and the empty fumes of hope?
Time to go? Time to carry my mind and my words and go wherever my boot heels take me?
16 hours ago