Do what you want to do: A letter to my (most-likely-not) future child.

As you know, traveler

every small town is the same.

You got your retirees,

you’re local coffee shop,

you’re boutique,

and three bars

all in a row.

You don’t know anyone,

but you’re running from them.

You don’t know what you want

but you’re pursuing it

and the chase makes you

tired and hungry,

and you just

want to call mom.

And the boy that lives here,

he convinced you

to leave the last town

you knew for a new

sort of similar—

one that at least get you laid.

He teaches you how

to not care about work

while he receives

a weekly check

from the unemployment office.

He teaches you

the importance of homelessness

while his father

offers to pay

an extra month’s rent.

By the time you realize

this you are so far ahead of yourself

that you are actually behind

the moving vehicle

and suspicious of your

own perception.

This is when

you realize that home

is just a pang of nostalgia

that you can create

anywhere you go

no matter how

awful the company is.