I found this on google and do not know who to credit
but it so goes with the topic, LOL
Get me out of this one-horse town.
It's too straight and narrow
for a tear-streaked clown.
Headin' 'cross the bridge
with my haversack.
My duffel bag's stuffed,
and I'm not ever lookin' back.
Gonna head to the city.
Gonna merge with the crowd.
Gonna ride all the busses.
Gonna live my life loud.
55 words in honor of the G-man, for Real Toads. This month, we are to evoke the biker sub-culture of the 50's, the disenchanted young people who spurned the establishment, and sought their own way. For some of us, this has lasted all our lives.
I never was a biker chick, or had anything to do with motorcycles. But I was a cyclist, and found a heady freedom soaring along the back roads. I remember how desperately I wanted out of my small town after high school. I sought the anonymity of the city as fast as it was possible to get there.