The world creeps up on me sometimes. A blur of shades and hues swirling around my head, racing past my eyes, twisting and winding in and out of the space between my fingers. It always comes after a long year. A long year away from my hometown in a place that feels more like home than this place ever has. Sometimes my eyes can pause and catch familiar faces, buildings, cars—things I remember from before I left. Nothing has changed here; nothing except for me.

I was back in town now, pounds lighter and inches taller, my trademark hair cut and my usual grimace faded into generally calm demeanor. I felt like I didn’t know this place anymore, felt like there wasn’t a place for me here.

The rain fell around me, but even that was different. The smell, and the feel—everything. It was an average day in my hometown—America’s hometown. The kids were all at school, the moms all out to lunch with their book clubs, the teenagers skipping class to get a decent lunch and I sat in my usual spot and my usual coffee shop smoking my usual cigarettes and being my usual quiet self, embracing the sights and the sounds around me. I let the routine flow into my body, enter in my ears, engulf my mind and sprout out of my fingertips. I hadn’t written in a while, at least not something worth being proud of.

It started raining harder. I remembered that the windows were down in my old beat up van with a dent in the side, and remembered I didn’t care. That car took the worst from me. A young teen driver without a care in the world except picking up friends and driving around aimlessly for hours at a time without a plan. We drove around a lot, my friends and I, never settling on a destination, continuously uttering “I’ve got a whole tank of gas, I don’t care where we go”. And I never did. I still don’t. I drive for hours, letting the wind sweep through my car, carry out the massive amounts of smoke, cigarettes and otherwise. It was a cleansing feeling. Feeling the cool air rush across my face and through my hair not having a care in the world.

I had cares now, probably too many of them. Money and family problems, wanting to make everything okay for everybody, still never focusing on myself. That’s how I’ve always been, and years away from this place would never change that.

It rained even harder then, and my filled with thoughts like the potholes on the broken down streets filled with rain. Swirling and swishing, creating crests and valleys, too intense and not creative enough. I always had a hard time focusing when it rained. I wanted to dance in it, to wash myself in nature’s home remedy for disease. The water was always warm here, no matter the season. It was always nice outside, sometimes too nice to fit my mood. But that day it was perfect.

There was a cool breeze as the rain came down around me. It smelled of summer, and home, so distinct that it was impossible to put into words. It smelled of freshly cut grass, and blooming tulips; barbeques and campfires; car exhaust and motor oil. And of course, it smelled like rain.

The rain slowed then and I felt a sense of completeness come over me. The world was mine for the taking, just like I was always told. I had no obstacles in my way, only a good head on my shoulders and the drive that could take me anywhere. I didn’t have a plan for my life, I don’t think I ever will. I wanted to change the world, to make this place better for living than it was when I grew up. I never set a destination.

“I have a full tank of gas, I don’t care where I go.”