I you are going to ride my ***
you could at least pull my hair.

She was pushing 55 when the bumper sticker
caught my eye. She was at the controls of a disturbed
yellow Datson with Nova Scotia plates when the bumper sticker caught my eye.

A combination of rust and bright yellow
sliced down the tops middle one wide strip of black,
heal to toe with tinted windows to boot.

1970,s Northern Canada, now a defunct country, hundreds of kids
thumbin' from east to west and from west to east.

I shared an Impala with to young ladies from Ontario
and the driver was as friendly as hell, as well as being deaf.

The Datson's bumper sticker now a distant memory...

Today there's not  many travelers, there's many being unemployed, ex-cons and dyed-in-the-wool Hobo's... homeward bound.
Plus those harboring severe drug and alcohol problems.... you could say it is no longer safe.

My traveling days are over
I left them 30  years ago in the dust.

I really thought I had seen the end of those days
30 years in my past. Today when I leave New Scotland, it's not long before I return home. I always miss the ocean.

The Atlantic is my choice, The Pacific smells like dank wood what, with all those firs and the logging industry.
Give me a campfire on a sandy eastern beach.

I'll wash sea-salt off my skin afore I jump into the sheets at days end. My skin being golden brown from the affects from a close enough star.