last pair of travelers I bumped into were in bellingham, they were spanging at the coop, on the far corner where practically no one stirred. preferrable to a freddys parking lot huh, I thought. they were very quiet and hardly said a word when I approached them, but offered me chips and chocolate and water, as I had left my things back at the camp. The girl had long dreads and a healthy figure, looked maybe mid to late thirties, world weary though and extremely ragged. Her slender blonde haired companion looked about the same yet fidgetted about restlessly like a playful little boy, doing stomach cleans and handstands and cartwheels on the pavement in front of their tiny little spange board... I was on the way to a show and wished them to accompany me but they said they did not drink alcohol and preferred to stick to their corner. Saddened, I let them be.
It isnt often I run across travelers with so much dignity and humility in their every word and action, and I suspect that that is because few travelers ever make it very far without retreating back to old ways and familiar faces and pipe dreams.
They lived in the moment and they had, observably, earned that capacity.