Storage units. Billboards.  Land for sale. Signs that say no stopping or standing. A semi carrying coils. Travel centers with certified scales.  Green leaves overlapping the highway. This stretch of road does not end. Makeshift memorials to those who have died on it.

U.S. 20. Heading into Michigan City.  A town of poverty and despair. He speaks Spanish into his cellphone. Talking loud. I can’t make out what he is saying. But he says Michigan City very clearly  into the mic. I will meet you in Michigan City, he laughs. He goes on talking about a casino. The Mexican plans on winning big. I don’t have the heart to tell him that in Michigan City, nobody wins.

The sign on the outskirts of town says welcome to Michigan City: sand and smiles. Along the way, a plasma center pops up. A Popeyes Chicken sits next to a Fannie May candy store. Travel Inn is on the next street across from a dead-end strip mall. It is a true symbol of the American small town. Brick and mortar left behind. Passengers on the bus do not take notice of the store closings, motels turned to shanties. Everyone looks at their cellphones for salvation. Bare parking lots and a Dollar Tree store. Black girls walking in short shorts. Weeds taller than them on the sides of the road. Debris drifts across the highway.  Sand and smiles.

It is on to another town. We’ll be deep into Ohio by midnight. More small towns and people left behind along the way. Flags wave. Nobody sees them. The driver keeps going. All of this is too familiar.  A trailer park. Gas stations. Farmlands sprout up. A dead dog on the shoulder. The sun is going down. Soon, it will be dark. No one can see without light.

Voices grow quiet. I wonder how the Mexican faired at the casino. I hope he got a piece of the American dream.