text: &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Despising the cocktail of cigarettes and fast food in his mouth, Randoulph put out his third cigarette of the night and pretended to watch another know-it-all become a millionaire. At this point he’s drowned out the pounding on his door. He knows who it is and what they want, and that he doesn’t have it because he spent it. Randoulph has long forgotten the fruitless efforts of his landlord and his thoughts have snowballed into a realization. Randoulph just realized that he’s leaving. Randy grabbed his keys, wallet, cell phone, pen, and notepad. Nearly running right into his fuming landlord he said, “Yeah, I got you on Thursday, don’t worry about.” He marched to his car, got in and drove to a gas station. The fuel was flowing and so were his thoughts, “Maybe I should let someone know.” he decided. Flipping through his phone he remembered why he decided to leave in the first place. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“Yeah, check please.” Randy requested from the waitress. It has been one week and he hasn’t settled down yet. At this point he’s feeling foolish thinking, “Yeah, right, like I’d actually just find some random town to fit my insatiable desire to be somewhere ‘different’ by driving aimlessly down the highway.” Turning back isn’t an option knowing the shit storm of unpaid debts and an angry chain of bosses. Randy did notice one thing. He can’t help but feel like he’s felt a tug, like a fish just took a nibble. He knows he’s onto something and doesn’t quite know what, he knows it starts with liberation and ends with content, and he knows that’s more than enough to keep going. The bell rings as the door swings open, and wanting to savor the taste of bacon, eggs, and pancakes he hesitates before lighting a cigarette. He settles in a quiet residential area with enough parked cars to avoid raising attention to his modest white sedan until morning.