Juxtapomorphosis

The time traveler set his heels down again, this time in the Bay Area, attracting what may amount to some modicum of success. His feet dirtied by thousands of miles wandered, mostly in aimless circles and always with an antipathy toward the ideals of his forebears; namely the idea of settlement, offspring, creationism and keeping one's imbibing at a minimum. The coolness of ice in a glass not withstanding, some of the former parental partialities have crept into his frontal bit of gray matter. Is it aging, or merely a hormonal imbalance of some sort that leads the structurally disinclined to roots? The wanderer blames time, blames the inevitability and desperation of approaching death, despite its surprising distance from the present. I think it might be all of those chemicals in our drinking water and wonder how to go about contacting the EPA. Industrial waste is causing maturity.