Standing outside the station of the grey dog, the station the color of the namesake of the hound. I'm not focused on the greytop. The stars hold my attention.
I was standing under a single lamp with my single backpack and single suitcase, music devices playing one song on repeat, as the star that's beat me to the ground today sets in the west. I stood there until the sky simmered and cooled.
There is such stark beauty at these hours. Alone in a nowhere town, waiting for a bus that might not make it. Ignore the news TV in the lobby I dropped into. A suspicious night manager eying me, like I eye them; weary and tired. I smile, to break the stoney glare. On a lucky chance I guessed the name.
My new friend in my nowhere town. I check out of a hotel I never checked into, with parting words and a promise of another day, some day. And if I never make it back this way, well at least there was today. I step out the door, knowing I've possibly said goodbye forever, and hoping with a desperate fervor it isn't.
But now, on the edge of a somewhere town, waiting for a bus that might not come, if the hypobox is to be believed, at this hour, as the lazy breeze blows beer cans down the street, after all the dust settles and the candy wrappers leave sight, I lose myself in the stars. It is beautiful.
I look around with new eyes when the wind picks up again. A little more passionate about its street cleaning duties now it seems. The pale sunrise, in my nowhere town, on the edge of this somewhere kind of road. Another sad sound of beer cans rolling away. It's all so sad, and beautiful.
Where will I go next? No where. Sharpie on the glass, scratched and bold. no where.
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