Pine trees rustled as a harsh breeze blew their needles against one another. Their deep, sturdy roots solidified their unwillingness to bend to the wind’s force.
The calming sound of a flowing river could be heard in the distance. Although the current was not was tranquil as it normally was, the noise of its rough movement was practically silent compared to the city’s racket on any given day. Sheath of mold covered rocks in and around the river.
The forest was a melting pot of varying aromas. Dampy earth, fallen leaves, and the river trail combined with one another to create a unique, localized scent. Some pines gave off a sour smell, while most others radiated sweetness.

Walking down a dirt path, Puka handed a water bottle to Chef. He took a big, refreshing gulp. After six hours on the road, they had finally made it to Oregon.
Puka had met Chef at Symbiosis Gathering a year ago. They grew fond of one another’s energy throughout the couple of days, and they became companions. Puka had already been a gypsy for almost two years prior to that. Despite having met dozens of road buddies along the way, she had never made a friend quite like Chef before.
“So,” Chef began, “you think today’s the day Commander in Cheeto Puffs is gonna get us nuc’d?”
“Eh, probably. But then again, I’ve been saying that every day since he was elected.”
The day beforehand, the pair had said goodbye to the last group of hippies that had let the pair join them on their bus. Made up us six other gypsies, the group had enjoyed Puka and Chef’s company for three months as they traveled throughout the West Coast. Yesterday, however, Puka had woken up in California knowing that it was time to move on. The memories she gained from her time with the group was worth treasuring, but she had to go--she felt it in her bones. They all understood, of course. Who was one person to hold back any other individual? Puka first broke the news to Chef, telling him that it would be okay if he prefered to remain with the group. In truth, however, Puka knew exactly what his response would be: “Sis, for real now? You’re stuck with me--sorry ‘bout it!”
After having departed the group and spending most of the day on their feet, an old man was kind enough to give the two hitchhikers a ride. Now at their destination (which they had really just intended on being any random forest in the state), they strolled along aimlessly. With all the constant, shared fear in America, Puka had been overwhelmed by it the previous day. All week, she had seen news reports of the growing tension between North Korea and the U.S. It did not sit well with her that her life (along with the life of every other person on the planet) was in the small, greedy hands of two sociopaths. So, when Puka woke up the previous day, she decided that if a nuclear war would be looming over the world, she would at least be blown up with her dignity--wherever it was that she just so happened to choose to be blown up.
Puka stopped walking and asked Chef if he’d like to rest for a minute. He agreed, and they both sat back on a small boulder to the side of the path. A flock of birds flew high above them, unbothered by the human world’s troubles.
Without a single responsibility in life, Puka and Chef sat back and breathed in the fresh, forest air. “[They belonged to no city. They belonged to no man.]” Man-made concepts such as borders meant nothing to them. Simply because they were born into a society where laws and restrictions were placed over them by other humans, that did not mean they were bound to remain there forever. “[Humans] accept the reality of the world with which [they] are presented.” Although most people would opt to be apart of something greater than themselves, a society with a single, cohesive reality that’s acknowledged by all its members, Puka and Chef were different. Their reality depended on only one thing: their own perspectives.