User:Average/Lonesome highway
At the edge of a lonesome one gas-station town in the middle of a bleak, dusty desert stands a plain man holding out his thumb in wind very slight, but so impersonal as to make you feel you're free-falling in the middle of the Abyss. His pants are plain, his hair is plain, his shirt is plain, and he stands plain. He's been there for hours. You can tell he's probably traveled America and knows it`s hidden gems, probably sleeps on the street. But he's holding out his thumb and he's looking right at you. There are no other cars on the road. There's not a single other thought in his own mind--though you'd darn near think he's had all of them. He's staring right at YOU. You, in your 'rod, who's just fueled up, ready to press on that accelerator and get out of that bumf*ck town so you can forget about it sooner rather than later.
The thing is, he looks at you and knows you. In one glance, he knows you've never really dared. Yep.
But he also knows that despite your life amidst the weeds of the anonymous masses, YOU could be the ticket that takes him further along his road. A road that lies beyond the miles of pavement under your pinion gear. He knows this because he's traveled across America, lived amongst rich and almost famous as well as the gypsies (and there's hardly more beautiful women than gypsies) and seen the human heart. He doesn't care what your background is or that you got an F in English class. The thing is, he knows all these things before you even started to think about whether you'd pick him up or not.
You're rolling down the road, looking out your passenger window you cracked open to get some 2-60 AC*, with a faint hope that he'll be gone, but you see him. He's still staring at you. Do you blow past him?
(*)That's 2 windows open, 60mph, air.
