I left it all behind me. I left my fear, my comfort and the blood from my recently slashed wrists. The drugs weren't working anymore, the cutting didn't transfer the pain. There was no pain. She wasn't gone. I couldn't accept it. The pills couldn't take her away, nor the bus she rode off in. She was forever in my mind. What could I do? Numb, bold and black hearted, I marched into the darkness of the interstate with the glow of headlights whipping by me. No doubt this was a dangerous and compulsive expedition, but I had no fear. Wanderlust suffocated my insecurities, adventure filled my belly. There was no need for food or sleep. The only need I had was to put mile markers between me and everything I left behind. These bags were getting heavy though. As a first time hitch hiker, no one advised me to pack light. It wasn't long before luck found me in the form of a tanker truck, pulled over with its hazard lights on. They must be stopping for me! I ran with my heavy load, careful not to miss what could be my only ride. I open the cab door to find an older gentleman, typical trucker. He wore a ***** old t shirt and trucker style cap, long white hair, a few tattoos of the chain gang variety. He clearly had some stories to tell. He had a welcoming, but slightly impatient tone, "I figured you'd come up here if you wanted a ride. I just stopped to make a phone call." He didn't stop to make a phone call. I gestured toward the loaded hash pipe in the ashtray, "You smoke ****, man?" His reply amused me, "Naw man, that's my medication. Go ahead and take a hit if you want." I took a long needed **** and exhaled relief. I tried passing it, but he insisted, "Go on, take you another hit boy. Get your head right. We got a long ride ahead." I graciously took my share. He took his, and we were on our way. We talked women, ****, current events, troubles, travels and adventures. I made sure to ask questions. Knowledge is like a currency to me, and I knew this old man had been around a good bit. I noticed his cigarettes. Pall Mall Reds. A man after my own heart. I told him we were kindred spirits and babbled some high induced nonsense about signs from the universe and how we were meant to take this journey together. His name was Kenny. Of course his name was Kenny.