I spot in front of my feet

Not a road in front of me

But many pathways

Leading to futures that just might be

I can choose where to go

Step right there, place a foot or a toe

And I'll be on my way

To brighter or darker days

But I prefer

To close my eyes

Spread my hands

And let the world decide

I don't care

Where I go

I'll fare well

That I know

Wanderlust is synonymous with the word gypsy.

Which I see on tea bags and in movies,

Full of women with dark hair and bright scarves and beads.

Gypsy's a slur.

Used in past European times to describe the dark featured people who weren't wanted anywhere.

They didn't travel on whims.

But out of necessity.

Is it still synonymous with wanderlust?

Maybe you don't take to the open road to go to new places,

But because you feel you don't belong.

You're not welcome.

People keep asking,

Are you running to something?

Or just running away?

And my answer is:

What's the fucking difference?

I'm so fucking tired

of driving this

interstate.

Two parallel lines

forever slapped

next to one

another

with nothing to see

the entire way

but a bunch of

dirty metal boxes

of varying shapes,

sizes, and

colors

rolling on

puny little

wheels, carrying

ugly faces

and speed-riddled

truckers.

The radio overplays

the same

tired,

mindless

shit

over and over

and over.

This garbage will

crawl into

your

brain.

If I hear Taylor Swift

one more time

I'll run this

metal box

I'm traveling in

over the next bridge

and I'm definitely

taking a few of

you brainwashed

fuckers with

me when I

do.

Jesus,

I'm losing my

mind

out here.

Cali to

Tennessee,

3 full days

on this barren

stretch of

not a fucking

thing.

I've been

presented with

the 'finger'

twice already

and it's not

even lunch.

I don't mind

though.

I take a shot of

Jim

for every

finger

I get.

I keep a

handle

under my

seat.

I wish I could just

fly this car over

everything.

Get there in a

fraction of

the time.

Just a few more

stops for gas

and it'll

all be

over.

Speaking of,

I needed to find

fuel quickly.

I was on dead 'E'

and it was 4 miles

to the next exit.

Then,

as if it all

weren't enough

already,

I ran out of gas.

I let it slowly

coast to a

stop on the

shoulder,

switched on

the hazard lights,

and looked ahead at the

endless,

heartless

highway.

You could see

the clear waves

of heat

rising

from the sun

pounded

asphalt

making the road

ahead

blur into

the horizon.

I laid my forehead

on the

steering wheel

and sighed.

When I opened the door

the sweltering,

humid air

took my

breath.

I stepped out

into the sun.

Cars and

semis

zipped past me

in a flash,

covering me with

dust and

debris.

I stared at the

dirty heap of

steel for a

moment

then climbed back

inside and

rolled down the

windows.

I'd walk to the

next exit

for gas

a little later.

Besides, it wasn't

going anywhere;

No more than

I was.

Just a little

setback

out here

on the open

road.

I kicked back,

threw my left foot

on the dash,

and reached

down for the

whiskey.