There have been many times I’ve sat here, looking outside and wondered. Thoughts of hitting the road again. Heading out west of the Mississippi. Way west. Oregon, California, New Mexico come to mind.
Travel by bus. Maybe take Route 66 again like I did when I was a kid. Heading to Los Angeles with no money to speak of. Looking at the red clay of West Texas and New Mexico. Walking in the snow at Flag Staff. Seeing orange trees on boulevards in Phoenix. Living amongst poverty where ever I go.
I’ve seen the East Coast. Left Fauquier County to travel north. D.C., Baltimore, Philadelphia, New York. Lived awhile in Manhattan shelters and The Bronx low income housing. The homeless scattered on sidewalks. Begging for a buck. Down and out on their luck. Mentally ill citizens of this country head to Manhattan as a kind of Mecca. On hands and knees constantly. This is their prayer.
Boston, Cambridge, Burlington, Portland, Maine, small towns in New Hampshire, I was free there. No money, just a want to survive from one day to the next. Calling friends and relatives, an ex-wife to wire money to me. Anything. A hundred would be sent, fifty other times. Enough to eat on for a few days; a homeless man eating in Indian restaurants, downing beers in college crowd pubs, gambling in casinos up in Montreal. Hoping I’d hit it big. No bed to sleep in.
Truth is, I’ve never hit it big. But, I’ve been damn lucky.