Patsy Smolik

Go on a long trip at 18

The asphalt road undulates, the road seems to stick to the waves. I walk on this mountain road, I like a boat. I was eighteen years old, and the yellow whiskers on my chin were fluttering in the wind. They were the first ones to settle here, so I treasured them. I have been walking on this road for a whole day, and I have seen many mountains and many clouds. All the mountains and all the clouds remind me of familiar people. I call them their nicknames. So I was not tired even though I had walked all day. Thus I passed through the morning, and now came to the end of the afternoon, and saw the hair of the evening. But I haven't walked into a hotel yet.