If only we could go over there, stay for a month, and then somewhere else.
Conveyances of another kind.
We’d hop from town to town; explore, let loose, dip our toes in unfamiliar streams.
When we’d tired of this vista, we’d move on to that. It’d be a grand life; large, risky, free.
We might end up anywhere: Barter Town, Miami, 1957.