The highway never gets bored of me, evenings these days witness me there at a hotel, having a lonely sip of tea. I wish it rained on my way home so that I can stop by and stay out longer. When did summer pass? Is it June already? The petrol prices are up in the air but my pockets are empty so who cares? The streets I walk wear a new face everyday, the friends I’ve found yesterday aren’t around today. My bones tell me I’m old, my mind repeats what I’m told and I age in disgrace in the same place, like always.