on the road

He's walking now. The street winds his insides tight. It’s much too loud with tires ringing and the screams from boy’s exhausts desperately trying to prove their nonexistent manhood. “This should be good for me,” he attempts to convince himself. He knows better. This walk is not about feeling good. It’s about getting from here to there. He’s walking with purpose but without a goal. No time to meander or to consider the danger. He walks and tries to keep his mind on fantasies of how things might have been. The noise is too much though, and he really shouldn’t be indulging those thoughts anyway. His life is good as it is, for all he knows.  He sees a figure in the distance, and he fights back an impulse to be afraid. He can be a coward sometimes, but he’s walking now. At least he’s walking.