Dirty is a Smell

From a train somewhere is Spain after 3 days in Barcelona:

The life of the traveler has taken hold. My pants are a size too big with holes. My hair is slightly dreaded and covered by the hood of my sweater. My blue eyes peer confidently from dark circles and a smirk hangs on my face. I have worn the same socks for three days. The traveler is not interested in appearance, only experience. Feminine clothes and high heels do not serve one on a five hour walk, so one no longer possess either. Clothes are functional now, not for show. I attract others like me. Since I travel alone I meet mostly other American men. I prefer the men I meet traveling to those I meet in bars when I am wearing lip gloss and smelling of Lolita Lempicka. They see me as for who I am, not what I look like. When travelers seduce each other there is a complete acceptance of the others shortcomings without judgement. You have ketchup on your thigh and my shirt has 3 holes, wanna make out? Normal people wish they could live like this.
The travelers code: 1) Dirty is a smell. 2) The grocery store is your friend. 3) Bring earplugs.

I would like to state a major difference between normal people, those who work jobs and 5 year plans, and the traveler. While I was working in Corporate America after graduating uni I would tell people I was working only to save money and go travel. This was regarded as something exotic, almost bizarre. Six months working for six months travel, and never any more power or responsibility than you could leave in a heart beat. While the normalite is worrying about a Power Point presentation, the traveler in the bar of a hostel in any given European city is scheming with other lost souls as to the quickest way to turn a buck and get back out on the road. My desire to extend my stay for as long as possible is only encouraged by those around me.