Lately we’d been living on the road. From hotel to motel, to sometimes sleeping on the freeway; our feet would touch the dirty ground but it stopped affecting us long ago. As the shapeless clothes found life from the hour glass figure that use to be poor; rippled roof tops eased into our minds. Power lines traced out figurines in the distance, leading as our map to a place we’d like to go. But it happened, whenever we entered a gas station or a restaurant the newspaper would be at the front, telling the stories we didn’t want to hear. Lie after lie, as the booth accompanied us to our food. Once we ate, once we left, we decided to take to the road and stay on it. Since every time we passed someone, they felt older than we were even if that was not the case; chasing after something was not what we were doing but catching up to a displaced time line was where we were heading.