I bought a man two hot dogs and a gallon of water. He closed his eyes and thanked God for keeping His word. I walked back to my car a different person.
Loaded up the truck and headed north with Lamont. Abandoned hotels, 1800s schoolhouses, a barn door opened ten thousand times by hands that are all gone now. This is what I chase.
I stopped for gas in Flagstaff. Rain coming down. A man on a bench who wasn't trying to perform sadness — just too exhausted to hide it. I saw what most of us drive past.
A man asleep in the gravel. The word CHURCH in metal letters four feet away. I pulled over because the frame said everything words have been failing to say.