Don't you wonder what is around the next corner, over the far mountain, beyond the curve and the concrete of the freeways close at hand? Don't you hunger for the taste of exotic spices on your tongue? For the sneeze of ancient dust raised by your tramping through long-abandoned towns? For the firelight and the music of cymbals and the shadows of women dancing strange undulations?
Pardon me, I think it's time to pack again.