Men are Made of Music

III

The grizzled old man in me begged to reclaim his youth before it was too late. A poet told him from forgotten songs to go again into the wild. I knew that it alone could match my ambitions and fulfill my thrills. And so, I became a blue-eyed son of a bitch on another quest for adventure.

Thus it was that I set out, past empty highway diamonds, en route to misty mountains, with no intention to return. And though I knew I'd find excitement, still I wished for someone with whom to share some calm.

What an oddity it is to have a trillion tales and not a single listener.