Where are you calling from? she asked. Tell me. Are you OK? Where are you?

Somewhere. Everywhere, Ben laughed. I don’t even know anymore. One day, I’m in Iowa, the next Illinois. That was a week ago. Just been driving.

Yeah. You like to drive, Jamie said. You running low?

Not sure. 

On cash.

I could always use cash, he responded. 

When you coming home?

Don’t know. I kind of like this vagabond life. Running around like this. Nothing in concrete. No commitments.

You do have a commitment. We made a commitment at the church on our wedding day. Remember?

No. I don’t remember anything these days. I don’t know why I called. Maybe just wanted to talk to somebody.

Somebody?

Yeah. Somebody.

Tell me where you’re at.

Why? What difference does it make? I’m here today and gone tomorrow. I just keep going back and forth on 80. Sleeping in my car. Eating out of vending machines.

And you like this?

I do. I guess.

Yeah. I guess so.

They hung up without saying goodbye. Ben got back in his car and turned on the radio as he pulled out of the rest area. National Public Radio was coming in from Chicago just a few miles away. Louie Armstrong was singing Do You Know What It Means To Miss New Orleans.

Never been there, Ben thought out loud. Never. Nelson Algren wrote about it. A Walk On The Wildside. A hell of a book, he smiled. Wrote about Chi-town as well. Came from Detroit. Few have read him. Few. 

The radio station was coming in clearer. Charley Parker was blowing his plastic saxophone. Ben hummed along. The sign for Chicago said 24 miles.