Moving across the calendar, day by day, pitching camp each evening and moving on in the morning light. Not really worried about which way is which or where I am supposed to go. That's life to me. The blessed existence of a wanderer. But that was then and this is now. The bus pulls into the station on the atypical point of the evening when the stars are coming out. I begin to feel the heavy steel contamination doors of contempt slam shut like a slap in the face, sealing me off from my fellow man. I can't take anymore and I no longer want to coexist with other human beings. It's a love/hate thing, and it will all blow over in the morning. After the bus fuels up, changes drivers and switches baggage, it heads back out for an overnight run. But I didn't get off. Well, actually, I was half in and half out of the door, waiting to see if anyone had shown up at the station to pick me up. They didn't. When the bus boarded I got back on. But at the last minute I thought I heard someone call my name so I got off again. It turned out they were calling for someone else, and now the bus is pulling away with my hand caught in the door. I run along side until I am dragged, not wanting to bother anyone. Hating myself for being me. Hating the human race for doing this to me. But loving my fellow man so much that I don't want to wake up those on the bus who have already settled down to sleep away the miles. So I suffer in silence, exercising mercy and practicing random kindness as best as I am able to. I'm smokin' joe blow, reminding you to be nice.