As I drove down Interstate 80, I saw this curious bus pass me by.  I never did find a story behind it, but I was jealous that a group innovative people had found a cleaner alternative to the fuel that was eating my funds away.  I wished in that moment, that I was aboard “rolling a new life over”.  Instead, I slept in my car that night at a rest stop outside of Omaha.  The cold stainless steel revolver in my hand was a reminder of the freezing weather outside.  Throughout the night, doors kept slamming, as travelers took pit stops before pushing forward into the dark.  Even though I meant nothing to Nebraska, it meant something to me as a  Counting Crow’s song sung me to sleep somewhere in Middle America.

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