This Is Not An Exit

I once stood on the loading bay of a bus station in Chicago on a humid June night, sharing a cigarette with some 17 year old girl who was, unfortunately, smitten with me. The next day she got off in Oklahoma. I was rifling through my bag, looking for a lighter or a book or something and I stumbled across a note she had written and must have sneaked in when I wasn’t looking. 

I don’t have the note anymore, but it was sweet in that sort of second grader has a crush on the teacher sort of way.

It was a weird two day trip and I’m trying to remember every detail I can. 

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