Thoughts, concluded

This may end up getting deep.
Anyways.
So I'm sitting outside, on a bench, at three in the morning in Boulder, CO waiting for a bus that was suppossed to be here ten minutes ago. There is a couple next to me. They're older then me. They've had more to drink tonight then I have. Its cold and I've pulled out my coat from my bag of cloths at my feet and put it on.
Its Saturday night, but the night is quiet...and I find that uncomfortable on Saturday nights.
We're talking, to pass the time.
"Why'd you come out here?" He asks, sticking a ciggarette in between his lips and lighting a match.
"To see a friend." I say.
"Its a nice place." She says.
"Really nice." I agree.
"I came out here to see a friend once," he says, putting the match to the smoke, careful not to let the flame hit his thick beard. "That was a while ago, you want a ciggarette?"
"I don't smoke."
"Good. Don't. Where you from?"
"Kentucky."
"I love Kentucky! Probably the nicest state I've ever seen. Really. Well, behind California."
"Yeah, can't beat Cali."
"Really can't. Where are you going?"
Back to Kentucky. Back to the life I lead, back to the adventures I seek, back to the school that educates me and the jobs that don't pay me and the people that love me and the house I pay rent for and my car, which is dear to me because it gets me out of the the life I lead and into the adventures I seek and away from the school that educates me and those damned 'work for free' jobs and all the people that love me every so often. But never often.
"To North Carolina," I say. "Then back home."
"We're off to Thailand." She says and I'm suddenly disgusted with the conversation.
"I've never been to Thailand," I say, jealouse. "Why there?"
"To get away."
Same reason I came to Boulder and now sit on a bus bench at three in the morning on a cold Saturday night.
"I understand," I say. And I ask them what they do and they tell me that they work for a non-profit orginization, an NGO, and I tell them thats cool, I've thought of doing that with my life and they tell me its a different life style and that at times they hate it but they stick with it becuase they're doing the thing they love.
"Whats that?" I say.
"Helping." They say with a shrug.
"Trying to make the world a better place. Dosn't everyone love that?"
And they ask what I do and I explian to them what I have written down on my Facebook school profile under 'Clubs and Jobs', though just in a little more detail and they ask me why I do it and I tell them because people tell me that I'm good at those things that I do and that I'm under the impression that life is about doing the things one is good at and they shake their head and tell me that life should be doing the things you love, not what others tell you and I'm listening, thinking.
All of a sudden I realize I can make a difference.
"What needs to be done, my friend," he says, smoke spirialing from his lips, "Is for you to start doing what you want to do."
He's a little drunk and slurring his speech.
"What are you doing here?" He asks again. I've already answered that.
I'm running, fleeing, departing, getting away, vacationing, clearing my mind, clearing my soul, seeing things that I've never seen before.
....
My thoughts are concluded.
....
Don't mind why I'm in sitting at a bus stop half way across the continental United States. Don't mind the fact that its cold out in this story or that its a lonely Saturday night or that I'm sitting on a bench waiting for a bus with two drunks. Don't look for a reason there. Unimportant.
Understand only what needs to be done. Understand that an answer has been handed to me.
"What needs to be done?"
Philisophically speaking, thats depends. On the character.
Sorry if the answer isn't as concrete as the road the bus rolled up on is.
....
I got on the bus and closed my eyes and went to sleep, out cold until another passing light woke me.