Go Ahead

"Sure why not" He muttered to himself.

Throwing the half eaten taco into the greasy brown paper bag. He ran inside and grabbed his guitar. The strings glistening in the sun as he loaded up his car. Coffee- check, Food- check,
Music- double check. Cd's scattered all across the back seat. He was ready. Map in hand. Cell phone completely turned off. Barefoot and curious. He hopped in and left. But there was no one to wave good bye to him. He smiled. He loved that. No one knew.

Everyone was completely oblivious to what he was about to do. He passed the post office. People mailing their letters. licking their envelopes, paying wayy too much for stamps. He chuckled to himself. Pictures flashed through his brain. Mexico, Europe, Spain. It was all so...far away. Yet he could taste the salt of the beaches, smell the fresh produce of the markets, and hear the music echo through the cobble stone streets. He was there. He was sorrounded by everything. Lights. Flashing by as the day quickly turned to night. Traffic. He wasnt there. Not in his car. Not on this highway. Not in the same state hed lived in most his life. The music lulled him to sleep. Crap. he hadnt realized how tired he was. Pulling into a rest stop. he gave up on searching for a cheap motel and just....slipped into his dreams. Right there in the front seat.

He was on top of a building. Where was he...He was in Paris. People walking hand in hand below him. The smell of coffee floating through the air. He laughed. He was there. Lights. Sparkling through the city. Illuminating the eifle tower. He felt complete. He smiled and fell back. The Sun burned his skin.

Where was he...Spain. He heard children laughing and water splashing. Music and conversation imminating from the shore. He was on a boat. Floating, his feet dangling in the crystal blue water. He cried. Tears of...something. Please stay please stay, he begged to his subconcious. But as soon as he opened his eyes he was pedaling down a dirt road.

Where was he...Mexico. He looked down in shock, in his hand was the greasy brown paper bag containing the taco. He stopped and park the bike underneath a tree. Leaning up against it, he ate his taco and allowed the enormity of everything envelope him. Mexico. yes. this was right.
he smiled.
And
never
woke
up.