Direction.

“Knowing you is like knowing a new map.”

“What’s in this map?”

“Exoticism.”

“Oh, well.”

“You confused me.”

“I don’t think I want to be your exotic country, where you think only you are the traveler. Confused, still?”

“My directions are.”

The hippie walked away towards the setting sun, as he lay there looking at the horizon with his compass pointing west.