Under a bridge in Millinocket, ME

The wanderin’ man tramps around for no other purpose than to tramp.

The views, the solitude, that kindred spirit of freedom warms his soul when he sets out on the open road.

Maybe he has a home.

Maybe he dohn’t.

Maybe he works to travel doin’ any job.

Maybe he dohn’t.

Maybe he throws up cardboard with a witty phrase.

Maybe he dohn’t.

You may have missed him. Look at the dirt beneath his fingernails, his bronze skin from sweat, tears of the sun and the many trains he’s hopped aboard to see the scenery blazin’ past and the vastness of nature surroundin’ him. That there’s the wanderin’ man through the monotonous blurs of everyday life.

You’ll see him with his thumb flexed by the open road and a heavy pack making his shoulders slump down to his ribs.

Maybe you wohn’t.

Maybe he wanders through the shadows, creeping through quiet night as a nocturnal ghost.

Maybe he dohn’t.

Maybe you’ll see him on “The Dog” or a public bus, on a plane or even on a boat. The wanderin’ man does it all for the sake of travelin’ on that open road.

Freedom comes with its toll.

That’s somethin’ the wanderin’ man knows. He learns a lot about himself when he’s alone, but it can also consume him…that much he knows.

At his core, he knows we’re all the same.

Don’t be fooled by his face tattoos or patched clothes or even those wanderin’ souls who blend in with us all. That’s all a facade.

Beneath the skin all traveler’s share the same palpable spirit, the same gypsy blood, the same core of adventure. We’re all wanderin’ men.

That nomadic spirit is somethin’ we all share as mankind. The wanderin’ man just acted on it and he may have regrets, doubts, and a slew of emotions rumblin’ around inside of him, but he just keeps on wanderin’.

That’s the wanderin’ man.

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