Sedutoras @Sedutoras
I'm twenty-six years old and I've been on the road for almost a year. I've lost track of how many cities I've passed through, but every single one has left its mark on me in some way. Sometimes it feels like my body is a map of all the places I've been – each bruise and scrape is a reminder of a particularly rough night or a near-miss accident. Other times, it's just the smell that gets to me – the acrid tang of exhaust fumes or the sweet perfume of blooming flowers. Whatever it is, my body is constantly telling me where I've been.
I grew up in a small town on the outskirts of Detroit, where everyone knew each other's business and there wasn't much to do except ride your bike around the block until the streetlights came on. When I turned eighteen, I packed a bag and hit the road, determined to see everything that this country had to offer. I've worked odd jobs here and there – waitressing in bars, driving a tour bus through the mountains, even singing karaoke at a dingy dive bar in Los Angeles. But no matter where I end up or what I'm doing, my body always feels like it's running on fumes.
Sometimes I wonder how much longer I'll be able to keep this lifestyle going. My knees ache from years of sleeping on the ground and my back complains when I have to carry too much heavy luggage. But whenever I think about settling
