The Glitter Jungle:
Fiction:
Tumbleweed
Hitchhiker
A hitchhiker stands by the side of the road, thumb up and bag slung on his shoulder. Cars go by, trucks ignore him, and the night begins to fall. The air is cooling, late September going on winter.
Finally a car stops by. Goes right in his direction. Golden oldies on the radio, the driver's fingers drumming quietly on the wheel to the rhythm.
A couple of hours later, they require a stopover. A soda, a bathroom break.
Tumbleweed drifting outside in the wind, like a beach ball tossed between imaginary kids, playing in the yard while mommy and daddy are having their sad, dull meal in the diner. The back roads are deserted, nothing but the rare call of a wild bird to startle them in the silence. Hissing of the grill from the kitchen. Quiet laughter from the waitress as she talks on the phone, blushing and whispering into the receiver.
Chance meeting in the prairie. Could be the start of an adventure.
The hitchhiker doesn't do this for thrills; he travels to change identity, to leave his past behind. It isn't lack of money that made him choose this way, but the anonymity of the road. He's being driven across the country and back, destinations picked and discarded every day. He leaves no trail.
The driver is just kind. Doesn't want to see a young man alone on the side of the road when night falls. Danger lurks around, from animals and people alike. He's just helping, trusting that when he needs help, people like him would be there.
When they reach the end of their road they part ways quietly, one thanking the other for the ride and the other thanking back for the good karma. Each goes his own way; one to stability and home, and the other to an endless journey.
The road is not an adventure. It is a place to see earth meet sky, and
a way to see the opposite of yourself.