Where 7 crosses 70, I spent my youth. Stuck in a valley along the Ohio River staring upon the overgrown hills of West Virginia nestled on a modestly kept street within earshot of an all night grease joint beacon along an oasis of fueling stations and a Big Boy. State cheapest beer and cigarettes to go with the loser's dream of scoring a life of luxury.
Hills everywhere, houses were placed precariously about the narrow side streets that were mostly steep and lacking foot traffic.
My only goal in life was to leave and not look back. I first wanted to run away when I was 8 but realized I was limited by my age and lack of means to get too far away. I was 10 when I started sitting in the window sill and contemplate how I'd most likely survive a second story fall.
Not sure when I started thinking bad thoughts of other varieties, but daydreams were just that, for I was stuck in Hell until I was done with high school.
I did well in school with the intention of getting a scholarship to be able to afford to leave, but I had no idea what I wanted to be beyond away from the place of my origin. Fate tempted me with opportunities in the Navy, abroad in South America in addition to the reckoning of getting out on the road like the Beats.
I chickened out and went to a major university where I got a minority scholarship, and nothing more towards tuition.
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