Thursday, June 11, 2015
“I don't really remember where I was. I don't remember if it was morning or afternoon. When you don't live in a house, or a car, or a back room, or a basement, or a garage, or a tool shed, or a shanty, or a cave, you spend hours trying to think of the other alternatives, and you lose track of time. I lived on Main Street, Third Street, Wilden Avenue, in “The Hollow”, at the Fairgrounds, and at all the parks. I've slept in homeless shelters, abandoned cars, under picnic shelters, behind bushes, in dumpsters, in stair wells, beside the river, and behind every restaurant in town. It's easy to hide in the dark, but it's hard to explain when you're confronted by someone who notices you and thinks you're a criminal. I own some cardboard, and blankets, and two tarps. They all roll up into what looks like a paratrooper's pack. I've dreamed of being a paratrooper, but...well. So, I'm there at my winter estate near a scenic park beside the river, and this man who looks like a police detective comes straight for me. But, he looked too old to give me a chase, so I wasn't too worried. I thought he might have eyed my paratrooper's pack, so I worked the strap around my shoulder and held on. He looked straight at me..."