I was a master of the road, having hitched tens
of thousands of miles, and this was just one of my many rides. With all the crazies, drunks, and creatures of the night, I rode along while listening to their wild stories and experiencing their bizarre worlds. From mothers and saintly Sunday churchgoers, to witches and warlocks with sinful pasts and secret books, I sat sharing their lives. So many winding roads were filled with so many varied people and unknown places—a virtual stream of consciousness. Like a constant game of tag, I went from vehicle to vehicle where I was always “it,” and wherever they went, so would I. A monkey throwing darts at a cosmic map must have been my guide. Rain or snow, black or white or shades in between, on the back of a tractor, in the cab of a truck, or in a VW van, it did not matter—regardless of who or what came my way, I continued the journey.

“Beware!” some people would caution me, as I entered their
cars, “There is a killer on the loose!” Then, they would ask me, in
their own nervous way, if I was him. No matter who stopped to give me a ride, each had their own reason for stopping, whether they were lonely, tired, good-willed, curious, or just wanted an adventure of their own. Some claimed that they recognized me, while others asked, “Where are you going, son?”
“Wherever you are going,” I would reply.


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