By 
By Mark McCausland & Illustrated by Chris Coll
It’s a long way to wherever it is I’m going.
And it’s time to hit the road.
After it’s too early.
Before it’s too late.
The destination is anywhere but where I am right now.
And tomorrow it will be somewhere else.
Somewhere a little further down the road…
I don’t stay anywhere too long.
Comfort is the enemy.
Keep moving.
Don’t stop.
With no particular place to go.
Just go…
But no matter where I end up, I actually end up right back where I started.
And the cycle begins again.
Nowhere is everywhere around me.
The car is filled with records.
And books.
Guitars…
The important stuff.
All I need to survive.
I can’t move in this thing.
No wiggle room.
Yet, I keep accumulating more of it.
With every stop is another load.
I roam from town-to-town.
Picking up whatever I can, and dropping off whatever I can’t.
A travelling junkyard of treasures.
Next stop is a village in Dingle.
It’s taken a week to get here after a series of wrong turns, and right twists.
There is no east way to get here.
I’m working off a tip that there’s an old man with the biggest collection of blues 78s this side of the Atlantic.
There is no address.
Just a rumour…
A myth.
A jigsaw puzzle to solve.
I may get sidetracked in Foxy John’s, the pub/hardware store where you can enter to purchase a lightbulb, and leave five hours later with a belly full of Guinness.
A dangerous place…
Hazards like this could prove to be perilous to my mission.
Will I ever find this old geezer?
And will I ever make it home…
Wherever that is?