this is how my road movie is.

i had been on the road for days, maybe weeks, when someone finally slowed down and hollered to know just what in the damn fool hell i was doing walking on the shoulder of the highway.

“i’m headed west.”

“do you need a ride?”

“i need the exercise.”

and she rolled up the window and drove away and because i like playing the outcast i flipped her off nice and big and with grandiose aplomb.

this was — what — out on I-84 or I-10 or I-90 or some shit i couldn’t tell you because the numbers all started to bleed together at some point. let’s say it was montana because i always want to say it was montana. that’s just a thing i believe.

anyway, i wanted a cigarette which is problematic because i don’t smoke.

it was me and it was the open road in front of me and it was the backpack on the back of me and i had a pair of sunglasses in there but sometimes i didn’t want to wear them. sometimes i just wanted the extremely harmful but otherwise warm rays of the sun to bleed me out and cook my skin and set fire to my retinas. and i would sing to it, familiar songs that you know that i won’t get into, cliched ones that would make me giggle at 4pm and 4:30pm and 5:15pm until it finally dropped below the mountains in the distance.

every few miles i would sit down and pull off my threadbare sneakers and socks and carefully inspect the blisters that i had come to think of as calluses that i had come to think of as badges of honor. i would shrug. i would say “fuck it.” i would put my socks and sneakers back on. i would get up. i would start walking.

my knees were a disaster.

i had been on the road for days, maybe weeks, when someone finally slowed down and plainly stated “where you headed.”

“i’m headed west.”

“good idea.”

and she rolled up the window and drove away and i waved.

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