Over all themes.
Fearlessness - playing my privilege, just a stereotype.
Sam talked all fucking night.
I tried to be polite. I answered the way you answer when you are for all intents and purposed, totally asleep.
I did hear bits.
He was in town awaiting trial.
He normally didn't talk to people much.
His mother had just died of cancer and he wasn't okay with that.
Though he had never touched a flea, his brother and father were afraid of him. That hurt him the most.
In the morning he asked if I had been awake while he was talking. Mostly, I lied.
He said it had felt good. He hadn't talked to anyone since his mom died.
I got my stove from the bike and made us coffee.
Sam was truly happy, and in the time I would know him, I think that this must have been the happiest I had ever seen him.
He asked me what my plans were.
I told him I had to get on the road because my bank account was dwindling.
"Why don't you stay here and you can check out all the places homeless people go?"
It was a good idea. Actually, it was exactly what I wanted. In truth it was exactly what my trip was about. It didn't appear that it would cost too much. And though it would occur in the degenerate states of America, it was such an opportunity. A trip extension, new experiences with a gigantic protector in a city I had never imagined coming to until the day before.
Though I was in denial about the insecurity of Mexico, Reginald's frantic campaign against Mexico caused me some concern.
Our campsite was truly a shithole. I preferred not to look to close. It was basically an opening in some bushes behind a convenience store. A vacant lot between the end of a forgotten street and an on ramp to the interstate.
There were beer bottles and litter everywhere and if I'd cared to inspect, likely much worse.
The mess had Sam on edge, but even before I got there he had a plan to upgrade his accommodation. Maybe 40 feet away a middle aged couple with a puppy had a camp under a big tree. They had had a fire going the night prior.
Sam said it was a good spot, and if they moved on he would make a play for it.
I'd come to meet that couple and when I did I introduced myself by my real name. They spotted it and counseled me that it was unwise. I would try and come up with something I said, but never did.
Now the man was another story. He had some charm. His name was Wolfman and he spoke in a gruff voice and it worked with his sideburns. He said he was called Wolfman because of his likeness to Wolfman Jack.
I only vaguely knew who Wolfman Jack was and admitted it.
"The DJ? who transformed rock and roll history?" he cried in disbelief. Then he did some impressions, I'm sure they were just like the Wolfman.
She called herself Carny. Not a very attractive name, though kind of
apt, because when the two of them were working, they worked at carnivals.
I'm not a very discerning fellow, but if I did have kids, I wouldn't
want them riding in a metal contraption run by these two.
The dog's name was Smoke.
Later I asked Sam about them. According to
Sam, they would feed the puppy Everclear, until it passed out and
then use him as a prop to panhandle for change. The dog evoked sympathy and people were more willing to give money for dogs than humans. It was apparently enough to sustain a good drug habit, but not enough for accommodation.
Sam showed me Tuscon from a homeless perspective.
Starting out, it was awesome.
Heady with our new friendship and warm under the bright sun we wandered around Tuscon on foot.
We took a footpath next to a dry river bed to get across town. The Rillito, or little river, was dry as a bone. Fucking deserts. Amazing that people would live in a place so inhospitable to life. Not a drop of water and signs everywhere, not to drive into the overpass when the water was above this marker. Floods and droughts. It was evident that God, if such a one existed, did not want people living in the middle of a fucking desert. Didn't Americans read and take the bible literally? Don't build your house on sand stupid! A moronic people, Americans.
As much as I was dreading a foray into America, it was fun to visit the backwards people.
And Sam was alright and good company.
We heard some music coming from one of the yards that backed the river. Someone was playing Great White North on a record player. Truly odd.
Sam giggled, exclaiming, "How about that!"
Bob and Doug MacKenzie were hiliarious and I resented it. This was Sam's impression of my homeland. My vision of his homeland was just about as generous. Sam was a pretty sensitive dude though and quickly followed up with a complement about the Tragically Hip.
We both loved New Orleans is sinking.
Our first mission was to get some lunch, and that meant hiking across town to the Sally Ann. I knew my dad would have been proud of me in that moment.
Except for short hair, sandals and belief in a higher power, I was pretty much walking the exact path of Jesus.
(* Maybe describe the industrial side of town, lowlife, sheepish in the harsh light coming out of the city's dark places. Describe the building)
The Salvation Army was more army than salvation.
There was lunch, and the anemic sandwiches and thin soup were welcome after a hike across town in the heat, but it was served by beligerant, belittling assholes who were clearly only putting in time to get to heaven.
There must have been three hundred people there, and all Jesus' people too, drug addicts and prostitutes. But so much yelling and judging, my dad would have had a fit or got the drill seargants fired. They were basically assualting Jesus every day at lunch time.
I thought it would be a good chance to connect with other vagabond travellers, but even as a voyeur it was humiliating and no one was in a mood to share. I thought about coming back later and talking some sense in to the screaming, judgmental drill sergeant. This made the Food Not Bombs outfit in Edmonton seem like a utopian dream. The only discomfort was the minty fresh burps from men high as kites on mouth wash. That was awkward. This was just fucking sad.
I glanced at Sam doubtfully. We ate, but the trek across town didn't seem worth it, we wouldn't be back.
Things would get better.
Our accommodations got a lot better.
When we returned, Carny was gone and Wolfman was beside himself. He said that she was off to live on A mountain with another man. Wolfman, destroyed at his loss was going to hit the road with his puppy.
"Where to?" I asked.
He really didn't seem to know. He just wanted to get moving.
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