I remember it was snowing hard.
The ground had a foot, foot and a half, on it
already.
I was wearing most of what I still owned,
desperate to get out of the city.
As I passed the Forty Niner diner, about six in
the morning, I thought maybe I could trade some
shoveling for a cup of coffee. The owner took
one look at my one hundred forty pound frame,
emaciated, yet
bulked up by the layer of coats and a robe I wanted to keep, gave me the coffee
and
told me
to be on my way.
As I trudged down I77 trying to hitchhike to
Olmsted Falls, sometimes moving faster than the
cars, the weather being so bad, it occurred to
me to lose the rifle hard case , empty,
I had been carrying since 91st and Harvard.
After I ditched the case over the fence @ 77
and 49th, I got a ride going the wrong way on 480.
It was just one of those days.
Six months later, my situation much improved, I
retrieved the case.
Six months after that a guy give me 10 bucks for it, rusty catches and all.
The address I left that morning has been a grassy knoll going on about ten years now.
As far as stories originating there this is prolly the least interesting.
Waking up, after draining a bottle of rum, with a pitbull attached to my thigh, on the front lawn........
Awwww don't get me started.
