I hit the road and just kept running months after I turned 18, packed my bags and that was it. It seems like I’ve got some sort of wondering spirit and as long as I can see the road it seems to feel like home wherever I am. I don’t know where that comes from, it’s not a need but I don’t find it to be a fault either. I spent years behind the wheel of an 18 wheeler and it never felt like I lost my way, there was always a home base at the end of my log book. Went overseas and never felt homesick. I’m bound to bound from place to place it seems, even now I look at my surroundings and it’s not home, just a temporary place to lay my head. My pillow has been a camouflaged pack, a rock, a $3 pillow from Wal-Mart, a stranger’s bed and mostly a surprise when I wake up. I’ve packed my bags more often than I’ve changed jobs, which says a lot considering how much I’ve moved. The most peaceful I’ve ever been was during the full moon under the stars where I was able to see all the stars, doesn’t matter where it was it always seemed like the place I was supposed to be. Maybe that’s why I associate myself with people who did the same, damn you Kerouac, but it has been a fun trip and I do eventually end up in the same place, back in LA. So “put a candle in the window…yeah I’ll becoming home soon, as long as I can see the light”.