Noises throughout the night. Trains, semis, cars running up and down the highway, kept him up. Years of living there and he still wasn’t used to it. Made him think of moving. Always thinking of moving. Maybe out to the country; rural area. Get some chickens. Start a worm farm. Sell bait to fishermen. A quiet life.

Highway 30 ran through town. Vagabonds and folks down on their luck took it to Ohio, Western Indiana, always looking for opportunity. Sometimes they’d take 69 down to Indy, up towards Michigan. Looking for that elusive dollar. The American dream. All he wanted was peace and quiet. The city is a young man’s game. He played it for many years. Now was the time.

Thought of heading down to Arkansas; the place of his birth. Cheap land, rivers and streams. Green in the spring. Golden in autumn. Maybe go down there and live like Rip Van Winkle. Take a long, long, nap. Perhaps never to wake-up. His final destination. He thought about it. Thought real hard.

He wanted the easy way out. So, he started selling his possessions. Got rid of all his furniture; a table, chairs, a bed, TV, only took what he could get in his Dodge. A few albums, books, some blankets, a pillow. He was on his way to peace and quiet. On his way.