This is standing. In the cold. With your thumb up. Praying that somebody is kind enough to stop.
This is hating every mother fucker that doesn’t, because they think you’re a rapist. A murderer. A crack addict. Or just another human being.
This is three hours spent in the rain. Watching people drive along in empty mini-busses. Guzzling up fuel. This is expensive cars. Pick-up trucks. Eighteen wheelers. Motorcycles. Dune buggies. Tour busses. Not stopping. Ever.
This is knowing that there’s no point in putting your thumb up for an RV because only two types of people drive them: old retirees and families – neither of which want you. This is putting your thumb up for an RV anyway, in the small hope that they will stop. They don’t.
This is the police pulling up. This is looking like trouble. This is them giving you a bottle of water because it’s a hot day. This is a “good luck, kid”. A pat on the back. A smile.