Retracing steps. Paths walked. There was always something new but never different.

How far did you go? he asked

From Indiana to Maine, I said. Stops in between. Taking long routes, unnecessary out of the way  back-roads. Watching autumn turn to winter.

How much money did you have?

Not much. Kept asking friends, family, and acquaintances to wire cash via Western Union; secret passwords.

I see. He motioned to the bartender and put two fingers up in the air. Tonight, we drink, he told me. To the poor man’s travel, he toasted with the shots of whiskey.  I drank it down. It warmed my soul.

Thanks for the drinks, I said. Gotta be on my way.

Where are you going?

I don’t know.