Pavement

I've been thinking nearly endlessly of travel, which is funny because for the first time in my life, I do not actually own a pair of good walking shoes. My stupid cat, a symbol of my domestic oppression, took a nice dump on the laundry room floor (another symbol of my domestic oppression). I stepped in the mess and the shoes, which had holes in them anyway, just were past saving.

I'm down to a pair of five dollar Doc Martens I bought at a yard sale and a pair of fifteen dollar Doc boots, I got off Ebay. I buy second hand, but I don't buy crap.

Everything I see makes me think of hitting the road, sticking out my thumb and taking my chances or loading up my bank-owned car and just going. I don't think it much matters where, just go, don't leave a forwarding address. Stay gone until the IRS comes asking.

I've got nothing against the inevitable settling that comes in almost every life. I'm a responsible guy. The kids need me. My wife needs me. Second-rate burn-outs who play bass and who want people to come to their show at The Empty Glass need me. My whole life, some days, seems about giving people what they need and me recognizing, it's what needs to be done.

But I dream of far-away shores where the days are different and the faces everybody wears change from time to time. I'd like to see crystal clear waters and meet more people with loose morals or spend some time wandering ugly iron cities full of fear and promise. I'd like to meet some friendly cannibals and maybe a werewolf. I don't know enough actual dwarfs or people who pierce genitalia for a living. I'd like to blend in with some lepers or at least a couple of strippers.

I'm not bored. I'm just restless and unfortunately, I fear it will eventually pass.