The open road glides along the Mississippi coastline as the dying sun is swallowed by the sea.  The waters blush with the reflection of the pink clouds, wave crests tossing splashes of crimson into the salty ocean air.  I no longer feel that I am traveling across the surface of this planet; instead, the world turns under my feet, under the wheels of my car, and I remain stationary as the landscape travels beneath me.  When the last streaks of twilight fade into blackness, the stars that prickle overhead are the exact same twinkling specks that have always been my roof.  Here I am, where I have always been.  In the huge parking lot behind a movie theater, I set up my camp stove and cook a bowl of chili.

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