This one is for the wallflowers who were feeling too much. For the shift working single moms still looking for a crutch. For the freight train crying out three counties over, and the cotton-jawed grandfathers still trying to get sober. For the street corner preachers and their spray paint psalms. For the hungry-eyed highways, and our two-penny alms. For the times when we stayed too late, and when we left too soon. For coltrane and springsteen, and the ways that we bruise. For the screen door crackle of the neighborhood kids, and the wide eyed laughter when the fireworks begin.
This one is for elliot who couldn't take it anymore. For jennifer who sold us cigarettes at the corner liquor store. For grace from the art show going through the worst divorce, and for brady shopping scripts in the belly of new york.
This one is for all of us, still out here in the dark. Still dreaming in the margins, and still giving our hearts. And the open road that lures us like an unwritten tryst. For the lessons that it teaches, and the gethsemane that it is.
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