Born Under A Wandering Star
I was born under a wandering star, but roots grow deep without meaning to. I stopped when my truck died on the highway, thought I’d work a few weeks to pay for a fix. Then I met Gloria.
Two guys together don’t roll into a new town round here unless they want to be rolled right back out, so we stayed. He’s been Gloria for years, so they’d all gotten over it before I arrived.
Truck’s all grown up with ivy now – kids climb in and dream of traveling the world. Been there, done that. Turns out it’s right here.
If you’re in the mood for a musical interlude, check out one or more of the links below, which came to mind as I wrote this story.