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What can you say about the small town along your way?

A point of origin, perhaps, but never a destination--
Where Greyhound stops only for a sandwich and a
	clean place to pee.

A motel room with worn blankets and bad watercolor art--
Where room service is an ice machine and hard peppermint
	candies on your pillow.

A place to drop your suitcase and lay your head down, weary,
	after a long day's travel and father yet to go--
With pale imitations of hearth and home and wife to tide you
	'til you reach the place you long to be.

And when asked, "Will you be staying?" you smile and
Shake your head, no.
No, no...
I'm just passing through.