There, a man stands on the train tracks of the Santa Fe Railroad Depot.

An image of his frustration and no set destination in mind, he lets his feet guide him where his heart cannot.

The handsome façade that he embodies is what put him here in the first place.

Walking through mushroom clouds made of dirt; the little particles from the ground infiltrate his thorax and start residing in his lungs.

Sure not to look at the horrid faces of the passerbys, he pulls his aviators out of his pocket.

Of all of his walks, this is the scariest tread that he has ever had to face.

He is used to covering up what he does not want to see.

Only at that time, he could not escape wet dreams, morning wood, or the deepening of his voice.

Through years of adolescent ignorance, he has grown an inch into manhood,

He still uses the marks that his mother made on his bedroom wall to measure.

Away from any form of human contact, he gets off the train tracks and plights the red dirt roads.

In the midst of an arid, dry Arizonian night, coyotes howl songs of sadness in the background.

He turns and coughs some, but he keeps walking.

He falls in love with the solitude.

This loneliness is forcing him to travel inside himself and he likes it here.

It is not the first time in life where he realized that he was alone.

Savannah, his version of a Maxim model,

Her caramel skin tone, the Texan accent that turned a‘s into r‘s, the pouty lips, and the pear shape figure are what linger in his mind.

He has loved before, but he has never been in love with another human being as he treasured her.

He became numb when he found out that she pawned his heart for the pants of a married man.

“Damn man, why did she do this to me,” is all he can think of right now.

“Is she ever going to come back, I need my baby to come back, I need her, I need her,” he screams to the sky,

His friends say the same thing over again,

“Forget her.”

The problem is he does not want to forget her.

He wants to wallow in the depression until he thinks he can pull himself back up, but he knows that he will not be able to go back to normalcy without help.

He did not want a relationship; he needed someone he could manipulate.

He wanted to do what Savannah did to him, to another person.

Plotting the revenge made him feel,

The emptiness, he tried to fill with girls, well, women.

They were battered women who he could control and say anything to,

He used to bop around them like a pinball,

One day, he learned that those girls did not love him anymore.

They stopped putting quarters into the machine.

Now it is just him, his thoughts, and the dirt roads.

He keeps walking until morning.

The stories he replayed in his head on the trip warn him out.

Not that he walked 14 miles for 5 hours from Glendale to Surprise,

He faints to the ground, in front of a house on West Bell Road.

It takes 35 minutes for someone to come outside and see who it is,

It is a woman that runs to his side and tries to wake him up,

“Michael, Michael, can you hear me? It’s Savannah.”