My name is Mocha, and I’m a carnie. I’ve traveled the world and met countless people, seen so many places—so many, in fact, that faces and landscapes often blur together. They mix and merge until new ones are born, existing only in my memory. My home has wheels and an engine; my home is wherever I go, and wherever I go, I’m alright, because I’m at peace with myself. There’s just this little itch in my brain that I can’t seem to scratch... it keeps telling me to move, to keep moving... and I’m tired. I really want to stop. But there’s this small town up north—I can’t remember the name—where I haven't been yet. It’s only 50km away; I could make it. I’ll just do these last 50km and I swear, they’ll be the last. I’ll buy a piece of land and park my home there once and for all. That’s where I’ll wake up and where I’ll fall asleep. I’ll find a new job, make friends with the locals, and for the first time in my life, I’ll have roots. I can already see it: Thursday night card games and pizza every Sunday. I’ll have my routine and no one—not even this little itch—will ever take it away from me. Just these last 50km.