I love gas stations.

To see another gas station

Another rest stop, a run-down diner

Another cluster of glowing signs

Flickering away in the darkness of the setting sun

Means travel.

Rest stop food, airport food

The bustle and the grimy floors and the uncomfortable people waiting by the bathrooms

The beautiful step from vehicle to pavement

After long hours, into the air

New air

Means travel.

Gazing out the finger-smudged window

Passing trees, signs of all shapes and sizes

Cars full of mysterious strangers whizzing by

Rhythmically dipping wires

Raindrops reflecting streetlamps, sunshine in my eye

Unfamiliar places

Means travel.

Testing out new positions

Sitting and staring

Out at the hypnotic scenery, ever-changing

Whatever’s fuzzing away on the radio

Or a favorite CD, maybe John Denver, maybe

Some Grateful Dead

Arguing over who picks the next song

But listening just the same

Means travel.