The wanderer lay awake in bed As the red light of the digital clock Shown across his face sometime after three A.M. Contemplating his fate Already staying longer than he intended After two weeks on the road This was his second night in the roadside motel Having met a waitress, now laying beside him Soft and warm flesh pressed against him, Smell of freshly washed hair filled his nose The transitory affair more real Than any of his long term relations The simple connection so fulfilling But knowing it would soon end As his wanderings were calling him again