it's desert ice outside but this diner has thawed my ears hot coffee in a clean white mug and a smile when the waitress hears that I was born in North Carolina not an hour from her home town and we used to play the same pizza parlor pinball and there's a glance in time suspended as I wonder how it is we've been swept up just by circumstance to where the coyote lives where my days are strips of highway and she's wiping tables down holding on and still waiting for that windfall but I've come home even though I've never had so far to go I've come home I pay the check and leave the change from a crumpled ten-dollar bill head across the street where VACANCY is burning in neon still well the night eats up my body heat and there's no sign of another and I find myself slipping down into that black but things are good I've got a lot of followers of my faith I've got a whole congregation living in my head these days and I'm preaching from the pulpit to cries of “Amen brother” closing my eyes to feel the warmth come back and I've come home even though I swear I've never been so alone I've come home I just want to be living as I'm dying just like everybody here just want to know my little flicker of time is worthwhile and I don't know where I'm driving to but I know I'm getting old and there's a blessing in every moment every mile thin white terry bars of soap and a couple little plastic cups old Gideons Bible in the nightstand drawer saying “Go on open up” well I'll kneel down on the carpet here though I never was sure of God think tonight I'll give Him the benefit of the doubt I switch off the lights and imagine that waitress outlined in the bed her hair falling all around me I smile and shake my head well we all write our own endings and we all have our own scars but tonight I think I see what it's all about because I've come home