Man, let me tell you somethin’. I was sittin’ in my room down in Macon, belly talkin’ louder than a preacher on Sunday mornin’. Thought to myself, “Well, hell, time to hunt down somethin’ to eat.” So I pulled up that fancy GPS—my so-called road angel—and it pointed me toward a Waffle House not too far away.
Sounded like a plan. Greasy spoon, hash browns scattered and smothered, jukebox hummin’ low. I could taste it already. But the blues had other plans. Took one wrong turn and boom—next thing I know I’m rollin’ down the interstate, headlights stretchin’ out like lost dreams. Had to ride damn near five miles just to turn my fool self around.
Now I’m cussin’, half hungry, half mad. Then I spot that ol’ green Subway sign glowin’ like a safe harbor for a tired soul. Said to myself, “Hell, that’s good enough.” Truth be told, I’d rather chew on a cheesesteak than chase down waffles anyway. So I grabbed my sandwich, sat in that car, and took a breath.
On the way back, that map finally made sense—ain’t it funny how it always does after you done learned the hard way? Made it back to my room, Snapped a picture right then and there—just to remind myself how gettin’ lost can still taste damn good.
So don’t laugh at me, now. Sometimes takin’ the wrong turn just means you’re ridin’ toward somethin’ better.
What about you—when’s the last time gettin’ lost led you somewhere worth findin’?