Okay, I seem to be getting better at this “modern world” thing that people find so grand. I shaved my mohawk, then I shaved my head, and finally I shaved my beard (but that’s where I draw the line). I’ve started wearing shoes again, even though I have caverns in my feet that are a quarter-inch deep. I had calluses that turned into blisters, which became new calluses, which in turn blistered. I’ve been doing fun stuff like playing frisbee golf with one of my Yellowstoners and hamboning with the Como Ave Jug Band and throwing away most of my worldly possessions so I can traipse across the country again. That’s me. Fit, lightweight and liking it.
Just today I started calling around Hood River, trying to find a place to live for the next couple whiles of my life. My timeline for departure is vague, as it depends on a Yakima car topper that is slowly winging its way across the country to the local REI, but I’ll probably hit the road before the end of the month. Looking into rental property, and crunching the finances thereof, really drove home the possibility that I may starve to death this winter. I’ve reflected on this a little bit, and have decided that it is a calculated risk. The world may be relentless and unforgiving, and running your own business carries its own special responsibilities, but in the long run it sure beats a real job.
If all else fails I can live off sugar packets and non-dairy creamers that I gank from local coffee shops. And I’m sure that lots of restaurants in Hood River don’t even lock their dumpsters.
As Hoagie would say, “Tookits.”
