I really hate needles.  I stumble across them all the time in the invisible woods, under bridges and by the train tracks no matter how small the town or city.  It’s an epidemic.  It’s always depressing to know that on the other end of every rig I’ve seen throughout the country, there’s a lost soul who I’ll never know, who may have needed a friend, even if for only a second or minute in time.

Sometimes the simple kindness of a stranger is enough to change a life.  Drugs are fun until they’re not.  To those I’ve lost, I love and miss you.

Previous articleStray Needles in Hartford
Brian Cray is not a cyclist. He’s not a hitchhiker. He’s not a train hopper or an adrenaline junkie. He’s just an ordinary man with gypsy blood in his veins, who can’t seem to settle down. Nothing defines him. He goes wherever this world takes him on this journey we call life, roaming the world, at will, by any means. He aspires for a life of indefinite travel, a tiny home in the woods for him and his wife, and any work that keeps him wanderin’. Brian Cray is a travel writer at heart, sharing his stories with the world one keystroke at a time.

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