Nothin' like hitch-hiking when I was young...
the endless open road.
the strange people, and their stories...
nothin' but miles, smiles, danger and big skies.
Then comes rain, thunder, lightning...
I'd have to opt for cheap motel rooms,
'till the sun shined again.
Me and a bottle, a pack of smokes...
my small rucksack with humble, but needed, belongings.
I hopped freight trains.
I didn't like it.
It's too dangerous of a game.
I lost a few teeth,
skinned a few knuckles, in meaningless wars.
I loved the diners on my journey.
I enjoyed the waitresses who showed me some leg...
their knowing smiles,
then after a few drinks...
I went home to their trailers, or cheap apartments.
We had sex without care or commitment.
Sometimes their husbands were working the midnight shift...
in local factories.
Or the gals were lonely townies,
single, and yearning for adventure.
They were longing to be someplace else...
anywhere but where they were.
Me, bum that I am, pondered philosophy,
and these dangerous liasons.
Smiling happily, I pulled up my jeans.
I pissed in dirty, gas station rest-rooms.
I'd buy another pack of smokes, and stick my thumb out,
for the road once again.
Onward, to the next town.
I was itching for more adventures.
There's nothin' like hitch hiking, when I was young.