Patrick packed the most precious of his possessions—his artwork—into plastic bins and loaded them into the storage unit. He could hear the planes overhead arriving and departing from Syracuse Hancock International Airport. He clicked the padlock shut and started hiking for the highway. He knew it would be easier to hitchhike the farther west he went. He, therefore, knew to be patient in Central New York where the only logical place to go was west.His converse sneakers and the weight of his Kelty backpack were the only things pushing him up the hill to the I-81 entrance ramp. It only took twenty minutes before someone picked him up. A huge red diesel truck pulled onto the shoulder, its bright tail light illuminating a fire fighters license plate. Patrick looked to the stars and said a little thank you. Firemen were suckers for strays.
Photo: Lasaraleen
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