Rusted train tracks slip down the road, winding into the fog.
Memories of old shows and carnivals brings me back to a time when I thought cotton candy and hot dogs were sacred.

I reach into my pocket to find twenty-nine cents.
The change from the Coca-Cola I bought that day when I was traveling for the first time alone. Three hours, Los Angeles to San Diego.

I remember my mother and father telling me to cherish the time we had together on our family vacations. I was never afraid of flying or got sick in cars or boats, but homesick? I was always looking for my origin.

In the final hours before sunset, tumbleweeds tip-toe and roll across those tracks which travel to all roads and counties, residing at this final crossing.

I didn't wait for the train to arrive before I started walking.