I’m in Adaire, Iowa. Been standing on the corner to the on-ramp west for hours and the sun is beating on my already sunburned skin. Just as I’m about to walk to the over pass to get some shade a police officer pulls up and gets out of the car. “Am I breaking any laws officer?”, I ask as he’s walking towards me. “No.”, he says. “Do you mind if I pat you down for weapons quick?”, “No”.

After a quick pat down the officer asks if I want a ride. I say yeah, throw my bag in the back of the cop car and hop in the back seat. On the way to next town over I can’t help but feel like he’s just tricked into an easy arrest. My anxiety quickly goes away as I hear him radio over to the next town and ask if there’s anyone available to bring me even further.

One backpack. Everything I own is on my back and I’m walking along a dirt road towards the highway I hear in the distance. I arrive at the on ramp and stick out my thumb.

A dirty blue pickup truck pulls up and the window rolls down. “Where are ya headed?”. “West”, I say. The man nods and unlocks the door. I have my first ride.

Money. It’s paper. It’s everything. It’s nothing.

It’s the reason you wake up on Monday morning. It’s the judge of your value. It’s the root of all things period.

Money is the reason mom worries at night. Money is the slaver of the neighbor pulling levers at the casino all night.

It’s the savior for hobo Joe on corner. It’s freedom of choice, freedom of time, freedom of life.

Money. It’s paper. It’s everything. It’s nothing.

What is life? Am I living life? Or is life living me? If I’m living life, how did I start living? If life is living me, how am I well, I. Why am I living? Why am I, I? If this is life, what is not life? Is this life? Or just my perception of life? If this is my perception of life, what is life?

What is life?