the town shuts down at three in the mornin’…bars close…busses stopped runnin’ hours ago…diners wouldn’t open ’til five…pourin’ coffee and servin’ hash browns while neon lights blink as a town starts to wake…

vagabonds and Gypsies lay asleep under bridges of Allen County…violently shakin’ from spice…meth…some numbed to the core from daily fights with junk shot into their souls…talkin’ to themselves ’bout redemption and trains leavin’ town…but…it’ll be just another wasted day…in Allen County…

and out in the sticks farmers are up pickin’ the last of the harvest…dewy wet ground grabbin’ hold of corn stalks and soy beans…for October is near…’nother year in the books…the Almanac says winter’ll be a tough one…an old man picks his teeth with a straw of hay…

out on highway 30 semis load up on fuel as light breaks over the blacktop…truckers leavin’ to another town with a danish in one hand a smoke in the other…

goin’ away…far away…from Allen County…only to return for a load on Friday night when they get paid and tip strippers with green bills from an ATM…wives at home far away from the Midwest…in towns like Rochester…Buffalo…Pittsburgh, PA…waitin’ for their men to come home from Allen County…where the town shuts down at three in the mornin…like it does everyday…