It seems as if everything memorable happens on Exit 4A.
The path of my autobiography, the dooming and thrilling story of us.
I can feel it in the gloomy grey evening with the chilled constant breeze that blows into my core.
The drive on the all too familiar roads.
Passing the worn down rustic and forgotten buildings.
Only a memorabilia of the years past.
I see the fading painting, and chipped off brick of the building with the fading american flag.
Could it be foreshadowing of the destruction to come or the remains of a war that was long ago lost.
