May first blew in with a rainstorm, but by afternoon the sun burnt away the damp and I swear, I swear, all the trees burst open
their leaves that day, a brilliant verdigris. And all I had was a backpack with a bottle of Old Crow, clean socks and underpants, a
notebook, and one hundred bucks.
But I went. I left that town and I'm not goin' back. Not even when the warm season ends. When October brings the frost, I'll find
somewhere to stay, a job washing dishes; and when the weather gets warm again in May, I'll leave for places unknown.
I've been hopping trains and hitchin' rides across the continent. I never thought the sunset would be so beautiful as it was over
the Iowa cornfields in June, with cicadas humming and getting stuck in my hair. I never thought the constellations would be as
clear as I saw 'em while lying on the side of a blue mountain in West Virginia. I never thought I'd hear music so heart-rending as
the concertina played by a blind man on Bourbon Street in New Orleans.
I'm tellin' ya. This world keeps on spinnin' like a goddamn carousel. You've just gotta find the elephant or the black stallion or the
seahorse that's right for you. Then you hop on, and you ride this world for all it's worth.