on something

On the train from Beaune at 5am, the French professor tucked his six bound books against his chest when he saw my Northface backpack put down on the other side of his armrest. He let go only to sharpen his pencil and put it away in between his gridlines. When he reopened his books, he held them up to hide himself in the words, and away from his own ideas. Or mine.
On the plane from Paris, i tapped a woman on the shoulder to ask if we could trade seats so I could sit next to my friend. She said nothing to me, but turned to my friend and said simply, "your friend, she is very clever," and she reached around and stole his blanket as she walked away.
On the plane from Washington, the man sitting next to me asked me why i had my passport out and not my driver's license, was i too good to just stay put? was i ashamed to be american?
On the boardwalk outside my apartment in california, the guy from the catering truck for the new TV show starring Don Johnson was arranging lilies in the vases on the plastic picnic tables. He was wearing sunglasses at 7am, under the shade of the tent. Even so, I saw him look at me and think, "how do you expect to make it in clothes like that?"
On the 3rd Street Promenade, when i went to buy an adapter to plug in my irish lead to my american outlet, the guy at the shop said to me, come back when you have more money to spend.
After seven months away, on the road, more becomes certain and you become aware of the parts of you that belong to each place you've been. Though in each place, you notice that people think you belong to someplace else. After three days home, even more becomes certain and you become aware that there is always a part of you missing. When the certainty of it gets old, you hope you'll kindly find a bit of peace and realize that you just dont care. That you're happy to just be somewhere.