The bus clamored around him, filled by the noises of children, playing and crying, of mothers and fathers, laughing and scolding, of lonely people, saying nothing. He sat with his hands folded around a pen on his lap, quivering with glee and furiously scratched notes.

When the bus’s line ended, the exodus flow carried him into the hot, dry air outside. Because of the recession, his funds had carried him farther south than he had hoped. Now he was done traveling by bus. From here on he would hitchhike, sleep in the shadows of roadside hills, and feed himself however possible.

He wasn’t worried, but instead anticipated with glee difficulties of a vagabond’s life. Here was a challenge, far removed from the comforts of middleclass life and his years in school. Here was adventure, its scent making his mouth water. Striding toward the edge of town, he tested his thumb, imagined his stance. He was on his way!