Monday, October 31, 2005

A Kindred Spirit

I think Pipe Tobacco is my kindred spirit politically. He wrote a post today that echoes my thoughts on things political and also wrote some of the changes and things that need to be implemented by our government. I agreed with what he wrote wholeheartedly and it was as if I was reading my own thoughts. Check out The Frumpy Professor to read his thoughts for today. (Pops in a new window.)

I think one of the more important issues he brought up is universal healthcare for all. My father’s business subsidizes my medications and they are over $600 dollars a month. If my father was not a pharmacist who owned his own pharmacy then I wouldn’t be able to get my injections for my mental illness. I just couldn’t afford it. This medication is vital to my health and well being and how do you place a value on such a thing? When did the health and well being of our nation fall dependent upon the rampant profiteering I see so often within the medical industry in the United States? How do you put a dollar value on someone’s health?

The sad thing is that government in my lifetime is more interested in promoting the health and bottom lines of big businesses rather than the common man. Our government is rife with corporatism. Our leaders are bought and sold like commodities on a market. It seems my mental health is also just another commodity to be traded within the market of our healthcare industry. I don’t want to be a commodity anymore! I hope to live to a see a day where someone's health is more important the accumulation of little green pieces of paper that have a perceived economic value.

First Light

My favorite time of the day is just before dawn. Every thing is so peaceful and quiet. The only sound is that of the hissing of my gas heater and the pecking of my fingers at the keyboard. Soon, the first light of dawn appears and the birds begin to stir and call. I go outside after donning my coat and stand in the cold morning air. I breathe deep. Frost covers the landscape and makes it look so cold. Every thing just seems right with the world.

I was starving this morning and fixed a hearty breakfast of poached eggs on toast sprinkled with some of that delectable cheddar cheese from Clarke Brothers Meats. I also cooked a pot of grits. Not the instant kind mind you, but good old fashioned southern style grits. I am also already on my second pot of coffee.

Yesterday was a blessed day and I got a real treat last night that I wasn’t expecting. Charlie had grilled rib-eye steaks and brought me one along with toasted barbeque bread, a baked potato, and a salad. I can’t afford to buy the things and I do love a good steak so last night was truly a welcomed surprise.

My father also called me last night to tell me he had bought me a ticket to the annual Alabama vs. Auburn game. This game is a HUGE deal every year and the stadium will be packed to the gills with rabid football fans. My brother and his wife are also flying in from San Diego to attend with us. Dad is also driving up to Lexington, Kentucky next week for the Auburn vs. Kentucky game. He asked me if I wanted to attend that game as well, but I declined. I just don’t feel like a lengthy road trip and will just stay at home and take care of their cats.

Sunday, October 30, 2005

Ferrets Got the Blues

For most of the summer, every time I drove somewhere through town I saw Ferret walking. He never seemed to have a destination. He was endlessly walking on a quest for what I do not know. George seems to think he is going crazy. I am starting to come to the same conclusion.

Lately, as cooler weather has set in, Ferret has once again started to hang out down at the grocery store like old times. He has been a pitiful sight to behold. He doesn’t shave or bathe and he looks so sad and forlorn. He rarely says a word. He sits down there all day watching people come and go as his life passes him by.

This morning I walked down to the shopping center to pick up a half gallon of milk for my coffee in the cool morning air. Ferret was sitting on the bench between the Pig and the dollar store. I sat down next to him to smoke a cigarette before I entered the store and made my purchase. He has really let himself go these days. He looked about as grubby as you can get with really dirty clothes.

“How’s it going man?” I asked as I lit my cigarette and sat down.

“I ain’t feeling too well these days,” Ferret replied sullenly.

“You still living with your mother?” I asked.

“That bitch is driving me crazy,” He replied. “She keeps telling me to get a job.”

“Have you been down to the unemployment office?” I asked trying to continue the conversation.

“What’s with all the fucking questions?” He asked angrily,

“Woah, hold it man, I didn’t mean to piss you off,” I replied. “I was just trying to make conversation.”

“Well, I don’t need your fucking conversation,” He said as he turned to me with a weird look in his eyes.

This exchange had caught me off guard as normally Ferret is a pretty laid back fellow. I flicked the almost spent cigarette out into the parking lot with my middle finger and thumb and then started to get up to go in the store. Ferret reached into his coat pocket to pull out an empty cigarette packet. He looked into it trying to find one last cigarette, but to no avail. I handed him the rest of my pack and he had a “what the fuck?” expression on his face as I did this.

“Why are you giving me this?” He asked. “You never let people bum cigarettes.”

“I just thought you needed it, man,” I replied.

“I’ll pay you back,” He said.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said as I walked off and left to finish my shopping.

I know what it is like to be down and out and every little good thing can make all the difference such as those few cigarettes. I also know what it is like to feel crazy and to not have control of your life. I think Ferret is experiencing those very same things. I just hope he has the good sense or what is left of his sanity to get over to the mental health clinic and get some help. Somehow, I doubt it will happen though. When you get like that you need help from others or your family to pull out of it. From what I have heard, I don’t think Ferret’s mother is up to that task.

Ferrets Got the Blues

For most of the summer, every time I drove somewhere through town I saw Ferret walking. He never seemed to have a destination. He was endlessly walking on a quest for what I do not know. George seems to think he is going crazy. I am starting to come to the same conclusion.

Lately, as cooler weather has set in, Ferret has once again started to hang out down at the grocery store like old times. He has been a pitiful sight to behold. He doesn’t shave or bathe and he looks so sad and forlorn. He rarely says a word. He sits down there all day watching people come and go as his life passes him by.

This morning I walked down to the shopping center to pick up a half gallon of milk for my coffee in the cool morning air. Ferret was sitting on the bench between the Pig and the dollar store. I sat down next to him to smoke a cigarette before I entered the store and made my purchase. He has really let himself go these days. He looked about as grubby as you can get with really dirty clothes.

“How’s it going man?” I asked as I lit my cigarette and sat down.

“I ain’t feeling too well these days,” Ferret replied sullenly.

“You still living with your mother?” I asked.

“That bitch is driving me crazy,” He replied. “She keeps telling me to get a job.”

“Have you been down to the unemployment office?” I asked trying to continue the conversation.

“What’s with all the fucking questions?” He asked angrily,

“Woah, hold it man, I didn’t mean to piss you off,” I replied. “I was just trying to make conversation.”

“Well, I don’t need your fucking conversation,” He said as he turned to me with a weird look in his eyes.

This exchange had caught me off guard as normally Ferret is a pretty laid back fellow. I flicked the almost spent cigarette out into the parking lot with my middle finger and thumb and then started to get up to go in the store. Ferret reached into his coat pocket to pull out an empty cigarette packet. He looked into it trying to find one last cigarette, but to no avail. I handed him the rest of my pack and he had a “what the fuck?” expression on his face as I did this.

“Why are you giving me this?” He asked. “You never let people bum cigarettes.”

“I just thought you needed it, man,” I replied.

“I’ll pay you back,” He said.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said as I walked off and left to finish my shopping.

I know what it is like to be down and out and every little good thing can make all the difference such as those few cigarettes. I also know what it is like to feel crazy and to not have control of your life. I think Ferret is experiencing those very same things. I just hope he has the good sense or what is left of his sanity to get over to the mental health clinic and get some help. Somehow, I doubt it will happen though. When you get like that you need help from others or your family to pull out of it. From what I have heard, I don’t think Ferret’s mother is up to that task.

Saturday, October 29, 2005

A Dangerous Game

HIV/AIDS Guy has made a reappearance at the shopping center. He and Big S are playing a dangerous game these days. The Piggly Wiggly doesn’t have security cameras and the morning employees such as Linda and Virginia are not very attentive. Big S is the point man and watches while HIV/AIDS Guy shoplifts. Normally, Big S just sits out in front of the shopping center asking departing patrons for spare change. I don’t think I have ever seen him go inside the store until lately. I don’t understand why these two would risk going to jail over orange juice, Vienna sausages, and saltine crackers though. That is what HIV/AIDS Guy stole today. These fellows aren’t too bright and even have the audacity to brag about it to me and others down there.

I dread seeing HIV/Aids Guy in that I am too polite most times for my own good. I will usually sit and listen to his lengthy spiel about how sick he is and how he needs money for his medications. He always shows off that tattered hospital identification band on his wrist. He is actually quite fit and well and doesn’t have AIDS at all. That is just his panhandling line and it works quite well in that people are glad to give him a few dollars just to get rid of him.

George soon drove up carrying a few patrons via his fly-by-night taxi service. Two elderly and very hefty black ladies got out of the car and went inside to buy their groceries. The car rose up several inches as they ejected their great girth. George waved for me to walk over and sit in the car. I sat down and he handed me a Milwaukee’s Best Ice beer from his twelve pack. I cracked it open and took a swallow. I usually try to make it a rule not to have a beer before lunch, but gave in today.

“Do you know what Big S and HIV/AIDS Guy are up to these days?” I asked George.

“Yeap, dey be some dumb-ass niggas, ain’t dey?” George said.

At least George gets his money somewhat legitimately through his taxi service even though he isn’t licensed to do so by the city. George kind of performs a community service for the poor and car-less people in his neighborhood although they do have to pay. It would be much more expensive for them to go through the legitimate taxi firms in town.

“George, why don’t they panhandle up at the Kroger?” I asked speaking of Big S and HIV/AIDS Guy. “That is where all the rich people shop.”

“Dem folks at Kroger won’t let you do that,” George replied. “Dem folks be nervous types and will call the police.”

We both sat and took another drink from our beers.

“You ready for tomorrow?” I asked.

“What about tomorrow?” George asked with a confused tone to his voice.

“You said the other day that you were going to church and were going to be born again,” I replied.

George laughed heartily.

“Man, you know I be drunk and be talkin’ shit,” George said.

“Well, I thought you were serious,” I replied.

“Don’t be payin’ ole George any attention,” George said.

“Well man, I am going to head on home and catch some football games,” I replied.

“Cya my brotha, cya,” George said as he shook my hand.

If Big S or HIV/AIDS Guy disappear for a few days, I will know that their activities finally caught up with them. You can only do stupid shit like that so much until you will get caught. Especially, if you are standing out in front of the very same store you shoplifted from bragging about your exploits. Only time will tell.

A Dangerous Game

HIV/AIDS Guy has made a reappearance at the shopping center. He and Big S are playing a dangerous game these days. The Piggly Wiggly doesn’t have security cameras and the morning employees such as Linda and Virginia are not very attentive. Big S is the point man and watches while HIV/AIDS Guy shoplifts. Normally, Big S just sits out in front of the shopping center asking departing patrons for spare change. I don’t think I have ever seen him go inside the store until lately. I don’t understand why these two would risk going to jail over orange juice, Vienna sausages, and saltine crackers though. That is what HIV/AIDS Guy stole today. These fellows aren’t too bright and even have the audacity to brag about it to me and others down there.

I dread seeing HIV/Aids Guy in that I am too polite most times for my own good. I will usually sit and listen to his lengthy spiel about how sick he is and how he needs money for his medications. He always shows off that tattered hospital identification band on his wrist. He is actually quite fit and well and doesn’t have AIDS at all. That is just his panhandling line and it works quite well in that people are glad to give him a few dollars just to get rid of him.

George soon drove up carrying a few patrons via his fly-by-night taxi service. Two elderly and very hefty black ladies got out of the car and went inside to buy their groceries. The car rose up several inches as they ejected their great girth. George waved for me to walk over and sit in the car. I sat down and he handed me a Milwaukee’s Best Ice beer from his twelve pack. I cracked it open and took a swallow. I usually try to make it a rule not to have a beer before lunch, but gave in today.

“Do you know what Big S and HIV/AIDS Guy are up to these days?” I asked George.

“Yeap, dey be some dumb-ass niggas, ain’t dey?” George said.

At least George gets his money somewhat legitimately through his taxi service even though he isn’t licensed to do so by the city. George kind of performs a community service for the poor and car-less people in his neighborhood although they do have to pay. It would be much more expensive for them to go through the legitimate taxi firms in town.

“George, why don’t they panhandle up at the Kroger?” I asked speaking of Big S and HIV/AIDS Guy. “That is where all the rich people shop.”

“Dem folks at Kroger won’t let you do that,” George replied. “Dem folks be nervous types and will call the police.”

We both sat and took another drink from our beers.

“You ready for tomorrow?” I asked.

“What about tomorrow?” George asked with a confused tone to his voice.

“You said the other day that you were going to church and were going to be born again,” I replied.

George laughed heartily.

“Man, you know I be drunk and be talkin’ shit,” George said.

“Well, I thought you were serious,” I replied.

“Don’t be payin’ ole George any attention,” George said.

“Well man, I am going to head on home and catch some football games,” I replied.

“Cya my brotha, cya,” George said as he shook my hand.

If Big S or HIV/AIDS Guy disappear for a few days, I will know that their activities finally caught up with them. You can only do stupid shit like that so much until you will get caught. Especially, if you are standing out in front of the very same store you shoplifted from bragging about your exploits. Only time will tell.

A Dangerous Game

HIV/AIDS Guy has made a reappearance at the shopping center. He and Big S are playing a dangerous game these days. The Piggly Wiggly doesn’t have security cameras and the morning employees such as Linda and Virginia are not very attentive. Big S is the point man and watches while HIV/AIDS Guy shoplifts. Normally, Big S just sits out in front of the shopping center asking departing patrons for spare change. I don’t think I have ever seen him go inside the store until lately. I don’t understand why these two would risk going to jail over orange juice, Vienna sausages, and saltine crackers though. That is what HIV/AIDS Guy stole today. These fellows aren’t too bright and even have the audacity to brag about it to me and others down there.

I dread seeing HIV/Aids Guy in that I am too polite most times for my own good. I will usually sit and listen to his lengthy spiel about how sick he is and how he needs money for his medications. He always shows off that tattered hospital identification band on his wrist. He is actually quite fit and well and doesn’t have AIDS at all. That is just his panhandling line and it works quite well in that people are glad to give him a few dollars just to get rid of him.

George soon drove up carrying a few patrons via his fly-by-night taxi service. Two elderly and very hefty black ladies got out of the car and went inside to buy their groceries. The car rose up several inches as they ejected their great girth. George waved for me to walk over and sit in the car. I sat down and he handed me a Milwaukee’s Best Ice beer from his twelve pack. I cracked it open and took a swallow. I usually try to make it a rule not to have a beer before lunch, but gave in today.

“Do you know what Big S and HIV/AIDS Guy are up to these days?” I asked George.

“Yeap, dey be some dumb-ass niggas, ain’t dey?” George said.

At least George gets his money somewhat legitimately through his taxi service even though he isn’t licensed to do so by the city. George kind of performs a community service for the poor and car-less people in his neighborhood although they do have to pay. It would be much more expensive for them to go through the legitimate taxi firms in town.

“George, why don’t they panhandle up at the Kroger?” I asked speaking of Big S and HIV/AIDS Guy. “That is where all the rich people shop.”

“Dem folks at Kroger won’t let you do that,” George replied. “Dem folks be nervous types and will call the police.”

We both sat and took another drink from our beers.

“You ready for tomorrow?” I asked.

“What about tomorrow?” George asked with a confused tone to his voice.

“You said the other day that you were going to church and were going to be born again,” I replied.

George laughed heartily.

“Man, you know I be drunk and be talkin’ shit,” George said.

“Well, I thought you were serious,” I replied.

“Don’t be payin’ ole George any attention,” George said.

“Well man, I am going to head on home and catch some football games,” I replied.

“Cya my brotha, cya,” George said as he shook my hand.

If Big S or HIV/AIDS Guy disappear for a few days, I will know that their activities finally caught up with them. You can only do stupid shit like that so much until you will get caught. Especially, if you are standing out in front of the very same store you shoplifted from bragging about your exploits. Only time will tell.

A Dangerous Game

HIV/AIDS Guy has made a reappearance at the shopping center. He and Big S are playing a dangerous game these days. The Piggly Wiggly doesn’t have security cameras and the morning employees such as Linda and Virginia are not very attentive. Big S is the point man and watches while HIV/AIDS Guy shoplifts. Normally, Big S just sits out in front of the shopping center asking departing patrons for spare change. I don’t think I have ever seen him go inside the store until lately. I don’t understand why these two would risk going to jail over orange juice, Vienna sausages, and saltine crackers though. That is what HIV/AIDS Guy stole today. These fellows aren’t too bright and even have the audacity to brag about it to me and others down there.

I dread seeing HIV/Aids Guy in that I am too polite most times for my own good. I will usually sit and listen to his lengthy spiel about how sick he is and how he needs money for his medications. He always shows off that tattered hospital identification band on his wrist. He is actually quite fit and well and doesn’t have AIDS at all. That is just his panhandling line and it works quite well in that people are glad to give him a few dollars just to get rid of him.

George soon drove up carrying a few patrons via his fly-by-night taxi service. Two elderly and very hefty black ladies got out of the car and went inside to buy their groceries. The car rose up several inches as they ejected their great girth. George waved for me to walk over and sit in the car. I sat down and he handed me a Milwaukee’s Best Ice beer from his twelve pack. I cracked it open and took a swallow. I usually try to make it a rule not to have a beer before lunch, but gave in today.

“Do you know what Big S and HIV/AIDS Guy are up to these days?” I asked George.

“Yeap, dey be some dumb-ass niggas, ain’t dey?” George said.

At least George gets his money somewhat legitimately through his taxi service even though he isn’t licensed to do so by the city. George kind of performs a community service for the poor and car-less people in his neighborhood although they do have to pay. It would be much more expensive for them to go through the legitimate taxi firms in town.

“George, why don’t they panhandle up at the Kroger?” I asked speaking of Big S and HIV/AIDS Guy. “That is where all the rich people shop.”

“Dem folks at Kroger won’t let you do that,” George replied. “Dem folks be nervous types and will call the police.”

We both sat and took another drink from our beers.

“You ready for tomorrow?” I asked.

“What about tomorrow?” George asked with a confused tone to his voice.

“You said the other day that you were going to church and were going to be born again,” I replied.

George laughed heartily.

“Man, you know I be drunk and be talkin’ shit,” George said.

“Well, I thought you were serious,” I replied.

“Don’t be payin’ ole George any attention,” George said.

“Well man, I am going to head on home and catch some football games,” I replied.

“Cya my brotha, cya,” George said as he shook my hand.

If Big S or HIV/AIDS Guy disappear for a few days, I will know that their activities finally caught up with them. You can only do stupid shit like that so much until you will get caught. Especially, if you are standing out in front of the very same store you shoplifted from bragging about your exploits. Only time will tell.

A Dangerous Game

HIV/AIDS Guy has made a reappearance at the shopping center. He and Big S are playing a dangerous game these days. The Piggly Wiggly doesn’t have security cameras and the morning employees such as Linda and Virginia are not very attentive. Big S is the point man and watches while HIV/AIDS Guy shoplifts. Normally, Big S just sits out in front of the shopping center asking departing patrons for spare change. I don’t think I have ever seen him go inside the store until lately. I don’t understand why these two would risk going to jail over orange juice, Vienna sausages, and saltine crackers though. That is what HIV/AIDS Guy stole today. These fellows aren’t too bright and even have the audacity to brag about it to me and others down there.

I dread seeing HIV/Aids Guy in that I am too polite most times for my own good. I will usually sit and listen to his lengthy spiel about how sick he is and how he needs money for his medications. He always shows off that tattered hospital identification band on his wrist. He is actually quite fit and well and doesn’t have AIDS at all. That is just his panhandling line and it works quite well in that people are glad to give him a few dollars just to get rid of him.

George soon drove up carrying a few patrons via his fly-by-night taxi service. Two elderly and very hefty black ladies got out of the car and went inside to buy their groceries. The car rose up several inches as they ejected their great girth. George waved for me to walk over and sit in the car. I sat down and he handed me a Milwaukee’s Best Ice beer from his twelve pack. I cracked it open and took a swallow. I usually try to make it a rule not to have a beer before lunch, but gave in today.

“Do you know what Big S and HIV/AIDS Guy are up to these days?” I asked George.

“Yeap, dey be some dumb-ass niggas, ain’t dey?” George said.

At least George gets his money somewhat legitimately through his taxi service even though he isn’t licensed to do so by the city. George kind of performs a community service for the poor and car-less people in his neighborhood although they do have to pay. It would be much more expensive for them to go through the legitimate taxi firms in town.

“George, why don’t they panhandle up at the Kroger?” I asked speaking of Big S and HIV/AIDS Guy. “That is where all the rich people shop.”

“Dem folks at Kroger won’t let you do that,” George replied. “Dem folks be nervous types and will call the police.”

We both sat and took another drink from our beers.

“You ready for tomorrow?” I asked.

“What about tomorrow?” George asked with a confused tone to his voice.

“You said the other day that you were going to church and were going to be born again,” I replied.

George laughed heartily.

“Man, you know I be drunk and be talkin’ shit,” George said.

“Well, I thought you were serious,” I replied.

“Don’t be payin’ ole George any attention,” George said.

“Well man, I am going to head on home and catch some football games,” I replied.

“Cya my brotha, cya,” George said as he shook my hand.

If Big S or HIV/AIDS Guy disappear for a few days, I will know that their activities finally caught up with them. You can only do stupid shit like that so much until you will get caught. Especially, if you are standing out in front of the very same store you shoplifted from bragging about your exploits. Only time will tell.

A Dangerous Game

HIV/AIDS Guy has made a reappearance at the shopping center. He and Big S are playing a dangerous game these days. The Piggly Wiggly doesn’t have security cameras and the morning employees such as Linda and Virginia are not very attentive. Big S is the point man and watches while HIV/AIDS Guy shoplifts. Normally, Big S just sits out in front of the shopping center asking departing patrons for spare change. I don’t think I have ever seen him go inside the store until lately. I don’t understand why these two would risk going to jail over orange juice, Vienna sausages, and saltine crackers though. That is what HIV/AIDS Guy stole today. These fellows aren’t too bright and even have the audacity to brag about it to me and others down there.

I dread seeing HIV/Aids Guy in that I am too polite most times for my own good. I will usually sit and listen to his lengthy spiel about how sick he is and how he needs money for his medications. He always shows off that tattered hospital identification band on his wrist. He is actually quite fit and well and doesn’t have AIDS at all. That is just his panhandling line and it works quite well in that people are glad to give him a few dollars just to get rid of him.

George soon drove up carrying a few patrons via his fly-by-night taxi service. Two elderly and very hefty black ladies got out of the car and went inside to buy their groceries. The car rose up several inches as they ejected their great girth. George waved for me to walk over and sit in the car. I sat down and he handed me a Milwaukee’s Best Ice beer from his twelve pack. I cracked it open and took a swallow. I usually try to make it a rule not to have a beer before lunch, but gave in today.

“Do you know what Big S and HIV/AIDS Guy are up to these days?” I asked George.

“Yeap, dey be some dumb-ass niggas, ain’t dey?” George said.

At least George gets his money somewhat legitimately through his taxi service even though he isn’t licensed to do so by the city. George kind of performs a community service for the poor and car-less people in his neighborhood although they do have to pay. It would be much more expensive for them to go through the legitimate taxi firms in town.

“George, why don’t they panhandle up at the Kroger?” I asked speaking of Big S and HIV/AIDS Guy. “That is where all the rich people shop.”

“Dem folks at Kroger won’t let you do that,” George replied. “Dem folks be nervous types and will call the police.”

We both sat and took another drink from our beers.

“You ready for tomorrow?” I asked.

“What about tomorrow?” George asked with a confused tone to his voice.

“You said the other day that you were going to church and were going to be born again,” I replied.

George laughed heartily.

“Man, you know I be drunk and be talkin’ shit,” George said.

“Well, I thought you were serious,” I replied.

“Don’t be payin’ ole George any attention,” George said.

“Well man, I am going to head on home and catch some football games,” I replied.

“Cya my brotha, cya,” George said as he shook my hand.

If Big S or HIV/AIDS Guy disappear for a few days, I will know that their activities finally caught up with them. You can only do stupid shit like that so much until you will get caught. Especially, if you are standing out in front of the very same store you shoplifted from bragging about your exploits. Only time will tell.

A Dangerous Game

HIV/AIDS Guy has made a reappearance at the shopping center. He and Big S are playing a dangerous game these days. The Piggly Wiggly doesn’t have security cameras and the morning employees such as Linda and Virginia are not very attentive. Big S is the point man and watches while HIV/AIDS Guy shoplifts. Normally, Big S just sits out in front of the shopping center asking departing patrons for spare change. I don’t think I have ever seen him go inside the store until lately. I don’t understand why these two would risk going to jail over orange juice, Vienna sausages, and saltine crackers though. That is what HIV/AIDS Guy stole today. These fellows aren’t too bright and even have the audacity to brag about it to me and others down there.

I dread seeing HIV/Aids Guy in that I am too polite most times for my own good. I will usually sit and listen to his lengthy spiel about how sick he is and how he needs money for his medications. He always shows off that tattered hospital identification band on his wrist. He is actually quite fit and well and doesn’t have AIDS at all. That is just his panhandling line and it works quite well in that people are glad to give him a few dollars just to get rid of him.

George soon drove up carrying a few patrons via his fly-by-night taxi service. Two elderly and very hefty black ladies got out of the car and went inside to buy their groceries. The car rose up several inches as they ejected their great girth. George waved for me to walk over and sit in the car. I sat down and he handed me a Milwaukee’s Best Ice beer from his twelve pack. I cracked it open and took a swallow. I usually try to make it a rule not to have a beer before lunch, but gave in today.

“Do you know what Big S and HIV/AIDS Guy are up to these days?” I asked George.

“Yeap, dey be some dumb-ass niggas, ain’t dey?” George said.

At least George gets his money somewhat legitimately through his taxi service even though he isn’t licensed to do so by the city. George kind of performs a community service for the poor and car-less people in his neighborhood although they do have to pay. It would be much more expensive for them to go through the legitimate taxi firms in town.

“George, why don’t they panhandle up at the Kroger?” I asked speaking of Big S and HIV/AIDS Guy. “That is where all the rich people shop.”

“Dem folks at Kroger won’t let you do that,” George replied. “Dem folks be nervous types and will call the police.”

We both sat and took another drink from our beers.

“You ready for tomorrow?” I asked.

“What about tomorrow?” George asked with a confused tone to his voice.

“You said the other day that you were going to church and were going to be born again,” I replied.

George laughed heartily.

“Man, you know I be drunk and be talkin’ shit,” George said.

“Well, I thought you were serious,” I replied.

“Don’t be payin’ ole George any attention,” George said.

“Well man, I am going to head on home and catch some football games,” I replied.

“Cya my brotha, cya,” George said as he shook my hand.

If Big S or HIV/AIDS Guy disappear for a few days, I will know that their activities finally caught up with them. You can only do stupid shit like that so much until you will get caught. Especially, if you are standing out in front of the very same store you shoplifted from bragging about your exploits. Only time will tell.

A Dangerous Game

HIV/AIDS Guy has made a reappearance at the shopping center. He and Big S are playing a dangerous game these days. The Piggly Wiggly doesn’t have security cameras and the morning employees such as Linda and Virginia are not very attentive. Big S is the point man and watches while HIV/AIDS Guy shoplifts. Normally, Big S just sits out in front of the shopping center asking departing patrons for spare change. I don’t think I have ever seen him go inside the store until lately. I don’t understand why these two would risk going to jail over orange juice, Vienna sausages, and saltine crackers though. That is what HIV/AIDS Guy stole today. These fellows aren’t too bright and even have the audacity to brag about it to me and others down there.

I dread seeing HIV/Aids Guy in that I am too polite most times for my own good. I will usually sit and listen to his lengthy spiel about how sick he is and how he needs money for his medications. He always shows off that tattered hospital identification band on his wrist. He is actually quite fit and well and doesn’t have AIDS at all. That is just his panhandling line and it works quite well in that people are glad to give him a few dollars just to get rid of him.

George soon drove up carrying a few patrons via his fly-by-night taxi service. Two elderly and very hefty black ladies got out of the car and went inside to buy their groceries. The car rose up several inches as they ejected their great girth. George waved for me to walk over and sit in the car. I sat down and he handed me a Milwaukee’s Best Ice beer from his twelve pack. I cracked it open and took a swallow. I usually try to make it a rule not to have a beer before lunch, but gave in today.

“Do you know what Big S and HIV/AIDS Guy are up to these days?” I asked George.

“Yeap, dey be some dumb-ass niggas, ain’t dey?” George said.

At least George gets his money somewhat legitimately through his taxi service even though he isn’t licensed to do so by the city. George kind of performs a community service for the poor and car-less people in his neighborhood although they do have to pay. It would be much more expensive for them to go through the legitimate taxi firms in town.

“George, why don’t they panhandle up at the Kroger?” I asked speaking of Big S and HIV/AIDS Guy. “That is where all the rich people shop.”

“Dem folks at Kroger won’t let you do that,” George replied. “Dem folks be nervous types and will call the police.”

We both sat and took another drink from our beers.

“You ready for tomorrow?” I asked.

“What about tomorrow?” George asked with a confused tone to his voice.

“You said the other day that you were going to church and were going to be born again,” I replied.

George laughed heartily.

“Man, you know I be drunk and be talkin’ shit,” George said.

“Well, I thought you were serious,” I replied.

“Don’t be payin’ ole George any attention,” George said.

“Well man, I am going to head on home and catch some football games,” I replied.

“Cya my brotha, cya,” George said as he shook my hand.

If Big S or HIV/AIDS Guy disappear for a few days, I will know that their activities finally caught up with them. You can only do stupid shit like that so much until you will get caught. Especially, if you are standing out in front of the very same store you shoplifted from bragging about your exploits. Only time will tell.

A Dangerous Game

HIV/AIDS Guy has made a reappearance at the shopping center. He and Big S are playing a dangerous game these days. The Piggly Wiggly doesn’t have security cameras and the morning employees such as Linda and Virginia are not very attentive. Big S is the point man and watches while HIV/AIDS Guy shoplifts. Normally, Big S just sits out in front of the shopping center asking departing patrons for spare change. I don’t think I have ever seen him go inside the store until lately. I don’t understand why these two would risk going to jail over orange juice, Vienna sausages, and saltine crackers though. That is what HIV/AIDS Guy stole today. These fellows aren’t too bright and even have the audacity to brag about it to me and others down there.

I dread seeing HIV/Aids Guy in that I am too polite most times for my own good. I will usually sit and listen to his lengthy spiel about how sick he is and how he needs money for his medications. He always shows off that tattered hospital identification band on his wrist. He is actually quite fit and well and doesn’t have AIDS at all. That is just his panhandling line and it works quite well in that people are glad to give him a few dollars just to get rid of him.

George soon drove up carrying a few patrons via his fly-by-night taxi service. Two elderly and very hefty black ladies got out of the car and went inside to buy their groceries. The car rose up several inches as they ejected their great girth. George waved for me to walk over and sit in the car. I sat down and he handed me a Milwaukee’s Best Ice beer from his twelve pack. I cracked it open and took a swallow. I usually try to make it a rule not to have a beer before lunch, but gave in today.

“Do you know what Big S and HIV/AIDS Guy are up to these days?” I asked George.

“Yeap, dey be some dumb-ass niggas, ain’t dey?” George said.

At least George gets his money somewhat legitimately through his taxi service even though he isn’t licensed to do so by the city. George kind of performs a community service for the poor and car-less people in his neighborhood although they do have to pay. It would be much more expensive for them to go through the legitimate taxi firms in town.

“George, why don’t they panhandle up at the Kroger?” I asked speaking of Big S and HIV/AIDS Guy. “That is where all the rich people shop.”

“Dem folks at Kroger won’t let you do that,” George replied. “Dem folks be nervous types and will call the police.”

We both sat and took another drink from our beers.

“You ready for tomorrow?” I asked.

“What about tomorrow?” George asked with a confused tone to his voice.

“You said the other day that you were going to church and were going to be born again,” I replied.

George laughed heartily.

“Man, you know I be drunk and be talkin’ shit,” George said.

“Well, I thought you were serious,” I replied.

“Don’t be payin’ ole George any attention,” George said.

“Well man, I am going to head on home and catch some football games,” I replied.

“Cya my brotha, cya,” George said as he shook my hand.

If Big S or HIV/AIDS Guy disappear for a few days, I will know that their activities finally caught up with them. You can only do stupid shit like that so much until you will get caught. Especially, if you are standing out in front of the very same store you shoplifted from bragging about your exploits. Only time will tell.

A Dangerous Game

HIV/AIDS Guy has made a reappearance at the shopping center. He and Big S are playing a dangerous game these days. The Piggly Wiggly doesn’t have security cameras and the morning employees such as Linda and Virginia are not very attentive. Big S is the point man and watches while HIV/AIDS Guy shoplifts. Normally, Big S just sits out in front of the shopping center asking departing patrons for spare change. I don’t think I have ever seen him go inside the store until lately. I don’t understand why these two would risk going to jail over orange juice, Vienna sausages, and saltine crackers though. That is what HIV/AIDS Guy stole today. These fellows aren’t too bright and even have the audacity to brag about it to me and others down there.

I dread seeing HIV/Aids Guy in that I am too polite most times for my own good. I will usually sit and listen to his lengthy spiel about how sick he is and how he needs money for his medications. He always shows off that tattered hospital identification band on his wrist. He is actually quite fit and well and doesn’t have AIDS at all. That is just his panhandling line and it works quite well in that people are glad to give him a few dollars just to get rid of him.

George soon drove up carrying a few patrons via his fly-by-night taxi service. Two elderly and very hefty black ladies got out of the car and went inside to buy their groceries. The car rose up several inches as they ejected their great girth. George waved for me to walk over and sit in the car. I sat down and he handed me a Milwaukee’s Best Ice beer from his twelve pack. I cracked it open and took a swallow. I usually try to make it a rule not to have a beer before lunch, but gave in today.

“Do you know what Big S and HIV/AIDS Guy are up to these days?” I asked George.

“Yeap, dey be some dumb-ass niggas, ain’t dey?” George said.

At least George gets his money somewhat legitimately through his taxi service even though he isn’t licensed to do so by the city. George kind of performs a community service for the poor and car-less people in his neighborhood although they do have to pay. It would be much more expensive for them to go through the legitimate taxi firms in town.

“George, why don’t they panhandle up at the Kroger?” I asked speaking of Big S and HIV/AIDS Guy. “That is where all the rich people shop.”

“Dem folks at Kroger won’t let you do that,” George replied. “Dem folks be nervous types and will call the police.”

We both sat and took another drink from our beers.

“You ready for tomorrow?” I asked.

“What about tomorrow?” George asked with a confused tone to his voice.

“You said the other day that you were going to church and were going to be born again,” I replied.

George laughed heartily.

“Man, you know I be drunk and be talkin’ shit,” George said.

“Well, I thought you were serious,” I replied.

“Don’t be payin’ ole George any attention,” George said.

“Well man, I am going to head on home and catch some football games,” I replied.

“Cya my brotha, cya,” George said as he shook my hand.

If Big S or HIV/AIDS Guy disappear for a few days, I will know that their activities finally caught up with them. You can only do stupid shit like that so much until you will get caught. Especially, if you are standing out in front of the very same store you shoplifted from bragging about your exploits. Only time will tell.

A Dangerous Game

HIV/AIDS Guy has made a reappearance at the shopping center. He and Big S are playing a dangerous game these days. The Piggly Wiggly doesn’t have security cameras and the morning employees such as Linda and Virginia are not very attentive. Big S is the point man and watches while HIV/AIDS Guy shoplifts. Normally, Big S just sits out in front of the shopping center asking departing patrons for spare change. I don’t think I have ever seen him go inside the store until lately. I don’t understand why these two would risk going to jail over orange juice, Vienna sausages, and saltine crackers though. That is what HIV/AIDS Guy stole today. These fellows aren’t too bright and even have the audacity to brag about it to me and others down there.

I dread seeing HIV/Aids Guy in that I am too polite most times for my own good. I will usually sit and listen to his lengthy spiel about how sick he is and how he needs money for his medications. He always shows off that tattered hospital identification band on his wrist. He is actually quite fit and well and doesn’t have AIDS at all. That is just his panhandling line and it works quite well in that people are glad to give him a few dollars just to get rid of him.

George soon drove up carrying a few patrons via his fly-by-night taxi service. Two elderly and very hefty black ladies got out of the car and went inside to buy their groceries. The car rose up several inches as they ejected their great girth. George waved for me to walk over and sit in the car. I sat down and he handed me a Milwaukee’s Best Ice beer from his twelve pack. I cracked it open and took a swallow. I usually try to make it a rule not to have a beer before lunch, but gave in today.

“Do you know what Big S and HIV/AIDS Guy are up to these days?” I asked George.

“Yeap, dey be some dumb-ass niggas, ain’t dey?” George said.

At least George gets his money somewhat legitimately through his taxi service even though he isn’t licensed to do so by the city. George kind of performs a community service for the poor and car-less people in his neighborhood although they do have to pay. It would be much more expensive for them to go through the legitimate taxi firms in town.

“George, why don’t they panhandle up at the Kroger?” I asked speaking of Big S and HIV/AIDS Guy. “That is where all the rich people shop.”

“Dem folks at Kroger won’t let you do that,” George replied. “Dem folks be nervous types and will call the police.”

We both sat and took another drink from our beers.

“You ready for tomorrow?” I asked.

“What about tomorrow?” George asked with a confused tone to his voice.

“You said the other day that you were going to church and were going to be born again,” I replied.

George laughed heartily.

“Man, you know I be drunk and be talkin’ shit,” George said.

“Well, I thought you were serious,” I replied.

“Don’t be payin’ ole George any attention,” George said.

“Well man, I am going to head on home and catch some football games,” I replied.

“Cya my brotha, cya,” George said as he shook my hand.

If Big S or HIV/AIDS Guy disappear for a few days, I will know that their activities finally caught up with them. You can only do stupid shit like that so much until you will get caught. Especially, if you are standing out in front of the very same store you shoplifted from bragging about your exploits. Only time will tell.

A Dangerous Game

HIV/AIDS Guy has made a reappearance at the shopping center. He and Big S are playing a dangerous game these days. The Piggly Wiggly doesn’t have security cameras and the morning employees such as Linda and Virginia are not very attentive. Big S is the point man and watches while HIV/AIDS Guy shoplifts. Normally, Big S just sits out in front of the shopping center asking departing patrons for spare change. I don’t think I have ever seen him go inside the store until lately. I don’t understand why these two would risk going to jail over orange juice, Vienna sausages, and saltine crackers though. That is what HIV/AIDS Guy stole today. These fellows aren’t too bright and even have the audacity to brag about it to me and others down there.

I dread seeing HIV/Aids Guy in that I am too polite most times for my own good. I will usually sit and listen to his lengthy spiel about how sick he is and how he needs money for his medications. He always shows off that tattered hospital identification band on his wrist. He is actually quite fit and well and doesn’t have AIDS at all. That is just his panhandling line and it works quite well in that people are glad to give him a few dollars just to get rid of him.

George soon drove up carrying a few patrons via his fly-by-night taxi service. Two elderly and very hefty black ladies got out of the car and went inside to buy their groceries. The car rose up several inches as they ejected their great girth. George waved for me to walk over and sit in the car. I sat down and he handed me a Milwaukee’s Best Ice beer from his twelve pack. I cracked it open and took a swallow. I usually try to make it a rule not to have a beer before lunch, but gave in today.

“Do you know what Big S and HIV/AIDS Guy are up to these days?” I asked George.

“Yeap, dey be some dumb-ass niggas, ain’t dey?” George said.

At least George gets his money somewhat legitimately through his taxi service even though he isn’t licensed to do so by the city. George kind of performs a community service for the poor and car-less people in his neighborhood although they do have to pay. It would be much more expensive for them to go through the legitimate taxi firms in town.

“George, why don’t they panhandle up at the Kroger?” I asked speaking of Big S and HIV/AIDS Guy. “That is where all the rich people shop.”

“Dem folks at Kroger won’t let you do that,” George replied. “Dem folks be nervous types and will call the police.”

We both sat and took another drink from our beers.

“You ready for tomorrow?” I asked.

“What about tomorrow?” George asked with a confused tone to his voice.

“You said the other day that you were going to church and were going to be born again,” I replied.

George laughed heartily.

“Man, you know I be drunk and be talkin’ shit,” George said.

“Well, I thought you were serious,” I replied.

“Don’t be payin’ ole George any attention,” George said.

“Well man, I am going to head on home and catch some football games,” I replied.

“Cya my brotha, cya,” George said as he shook my hand.

If Big S or HIV/AIDS Guy disappear for a few days, I will know that their activities finally caught up with them. You can only do stupid shit like that so much until you will get caught. Especially, if you are standing out in front of the very same store you shoplifted from bragging about your exploits. Only time will tell.

A Dangerous Game

HIV/AIDS Guy has made a reappearance at the shopping center. He and Big S are playing a dangerous game these days. The Piggly Wiggly doesn’t have security cameras and the morning employees such as Linda and Virginia are not very attentive. Big S is the point man and watches while HIV/AIDS Guy shoplifts. Normally, Big S just sits out in front of the shopping center asking departing patrons for spare change. I don’t think I have ever seen him go inside the store until lately. I don’t understand why these two would risk going to jail over orange juice, Vienna sausages, and saltine crackers though. That is what HIV/AIDS Guy stole today. These fellows aren’t too bright and even have the audacity to brag about it to me and others down there.

I dread seeing HIV/Aids Guy in that I am too polite most times for my own good. I will usually sit and listen to his lengthy spiel about how sick he is and how he needs money for his medications. He always shows off that tattered hospital identification band on his wrist. He is actually quite fit and well and doesn’t have AIDS at all. That is just his panhandling line and it works quite well in that people are glad to give him a few dollars just to get rid of him.

George soon drove up carrying a few patrons via his fly-by-night taxi service. Two elderly and very hefty black ladies got out of the car and went inside to buy their groceries. The car rose up several inches as they ejected their great girth. George waved for me to walk over and sit in the car. I sat down and he handed me a Milwaukee’s Best Ice beer from his twelve pack. I cracked it open and took a swallow. I usually try to make it a rule not to have a beer before lunch, but gave in today.

“Do you know what Big S and HIV/AIDS Guy are up to these days?” I asked George.

“Yeap, dey be some dumb-ass niggas, ain’t dey?” George said.

At least George gets his money somewhat legitimately through his taxi service even though he isn’t licensed to do so by the city. George kind of performs a community service for the poor and car-less people in his neighborhood although they do have to pay. It would be much more expensive for them to go through the legitimate taxi firms in town.

“George, why don’t they panhandle up at the Kroger?” I asked speaking of Big S and HIV/AIDS Guy. “That is where all the rich people shop.”

“Dem folks at Kroger won’t let you do that,” George replied. “Dem folks be nervous types and will call the police.”

We both sat and took another drink from our beers.

“You ready for tomorrow?” I asked.

“What about tomorrow?” George asked with a confused tone to his voice.

“You said the other day that you were going to church and were going to be born again,” I replied.

George laughed heartily.

“Man, you know I be drunk and be talkin’ shit,” George said.

“Well, I thought you were serious,” I replied.

“Don’t be payin’ ole George any attention,” George said.

“Well man, I am going to head on home and catch some football games,” I replied.

“Cya my brotha, cya,” George said as he shook my hand.

If Big S or HIV/AIDS Guy disappear for a few days, I will know that their activities finally caught up with them. You can only do stupid shit like that so much until you will get caught. Especially, if you are standing out in front of the very same store you shoplifted from bragging about your exploits. Only time will tell.

A Dangerous Game

HIV/AIDS Guy has made a reappearance at the shopping center. He and Big S are playing a dangerous game these days. The Piggly Wiggly doesn’t have security cameras and the morning employees such as Linda and Virginia are not very attentive. Big S is the point man and watches while HIV/AIDS Guy shoplifts. Normally, Big S just sits out in front of the shopping center asking departing patrons for spare change. I don’t think I have ever seen him go inside the store until lately. I don’t understand why these two would risk going to jail over orange juice, Vienna sausages, and saltine crackers though. That is what HIV/AIDS Guy stole today. These fellows aren’t too bright and even have the audacity to brag about it to me and others down there.

I dread seeing HIV/Aids Guy in that I am too polite most times for my own good. I will usually sit and listen to his lengthy spiel about how sick he is and how he needs money for his medications. He always shows off that tattered hospital identification band on his wrist. He is actually quite fit and well and doesn’t have AIDS at all. That is just his panhandling line and it works quite well in that people are glad to give him a few dollars just to get rid of him.

George soon drove up carrying a few patrons via his fly-by-night taxi service. Two elderly and very hefty black ladies got out of the car and went inside to buy their groceries. The car rose up several inches as they ejected their great girth. George waved for me to walk over and sit in the car. I sat down and he handed me a Milwaukee’s Best Ice beer from his twelve pack. I cracked it open and took a swallow. I usually try to make it a rule not to have a beer before lunch, but gave in today.

“Do you know what Big S and HIV/AIDS Guy are up to these days?” I asked George.

“Yeap, dey be some dumb-ass niggas, ain’t dey?” George said.

At least George gets his money somewhat legitimately through his taxi service even though he isn’t licensed to do so by the city. George kind of performs a community service for the poor and car-less people in his neighborhood although they do have to pay. It would be much more expensive for them to go through the legitimate taxi firms in town.

“George, why don’t they panhandle up at the Kroger?” I asked speaking of Big S and HIV/AIDS Guy. “That is where all the rich people shop.”

“Dem folks at Kroger won’t let you do that,” George replied. “Dem folks be nervous types and will call the police.”

We both sat and took another drink from our beers.

“You ready for tomorrow?” I asked.

“What about tomorrow?” George asked with a confused tone to his voice.

“You said the other day that you were going to church and were going to be born again,” I replied.

George laughed heartily.

“Man, you know I be drunk and be talkin’ shit,” George said.

“Well, I thought you were serious,” I replied.

“Don’t be payin’ ole George any attention,” George said.

“Well man, I am going to head on home and catch some football games,” I replied.

“Cya my brotha, cya,” George said as he shook my hand.

If Big S or HIV/AIDS Guy disappear for a few days, I will know that their activities finally caught up with them. You can only do stupid shit like that so much until you will get caught. Especially, if you are standing out in front of the very same store you shoplifted from bragging about your exploits. Only time will tell.

A Dangerous Game

HIV/AIDS Guy has made a reappearance at the shopping center. He and Big S are playing a dangerous game these days. The Piggly Wiggly doesn’t have security cameras and the morning employees such as Linda and Virginia are not very attentive. Big S is the point man and watches while HIV/AIDS Guy shoplifts. Normally, Big S just sits out in front of the shopping center asking departing patrons for spare change. I don’t think I have ever seen him go inside the store until lately. I don’t understand why these two would risk going to jail over orange juice, Vienna sausages, and saltine crackers though. That is what HIV/AIDS Guy stole today. These fellows aren’t too bright and even have the audacity to brag about it to me and others down there.

I dread seeing HIV/Aids Guy in that I am too polite most times for my own good. I will usually sit and listen to his lengthy spiel about how sick he is and how he needs money for his medications. He always shows off that tattered hospital identification band on his wrist. He is actually quite fit and well and doesn’t have AIDS at all. That is just his panhandling line and it works quite well in that people are glad to give him a few dollars just to get rid of him.

George soon drove up carrying a few patrons via his fly-by-night taxi service. Two elderly and very hefty black ladies got out of the car and went inside to buy their groceries. The car rose up several inches as they ejected their great girth. George waved for me to walk over and sit in the car. I sat down and he handed me a Milwaukee’s Best Ice beer from his twelve pack. I cracked it open and took a swallow. I usually try to make it a rule not to have a beer before lunch, but gave in today.

“Do you know what Big S and HIV/AIDS Guy are up to these days?” I asked George.

“Yeap, dey be some dumb-ass niggas, ain’t dey?” George said.

At least George gets his money somewhat legitimately through his taxi service even though he isn’t licensed to do so by the city. George kind of performs a community service for the poor and car-less people in his neighborhood although they do have to pay. It would be much more expensive for them to go through the legitimate taxi firms in town.

“George, why don’t they panhandle up at the Kroger?” I asked speaking of Big S and HIV/AIDS Guy. “That is where all the rich people shop.”

“Dem folks at Kroger won’t let you do that,” George replied. “Dem folks be nervous types and will call the police.”

We both sat and took another drink from our beers.

“You ready for tomorrow?” I asked.

“What about tomorrow?” George asked with a confused tone to his voice.

“You said the other day that you were going to church and were going to be born again,” I replied.

George laughed heartily.

“Man, you know I be drunk and be talkin’ shit,” George said.

“Well, I thought you were serious,” I replied.

“Don’t be payin’ ole George any attention,” George said.

“Well man, I am going to head on home and catch some football games,” I replied.

“Cya my brotha, cya,” George said as he shook my hand.

If Big S or HIV/AIDS Guy disappear for a few days, I will know that their activities finally caught up with them. You can only do stupid shit like that so much until you will get caught. Especially, if you are standing out in front of the very same store you shoplifted from bragging about your exploits. Only time will tell.

A Dangerous Game

HIV/AIDS Guy has made a reappearance at the shopping center. He and Big S are playing a dangerous game these days. The Piggly Wiggly doesn’t have security cameras and the morning employees such as Linda and Virginia are not very attentive. Big S is the point man and watches while HIV/AIDS Guy shoplifts. Normally, Big S just sits out in front of the shopping center asking departing patrons for spare change. I don’t think I have ever seen him go inside the store until lately. I don’t understand why these two would risk going to jail over orange juice, Vienna sausages, and saltine crackers though. That is what HIV/AIDS Guy stole today. These fellows aren’t too bright and even have the audacity to brag about it to me and others down there.

I dread seeing HIV/Aids Guy in that I am too polite most times for my own good. I will usually sit and listen to his lengthy spiel about how sick he is and how he needs money for his medications. He always shows off that tattered hospital identification band on his wrist. He is actually quite fit and well and doesn’t have AIDS at all. That is just his panhandling line and it works quite well in that people are glad to give him a few dollars just to get rid of him.

George soon drove up carrying a few patrons via his fly-by-night taxi service. Two elderly and very hefty black ladies got out of the car and went inside to buy their groceries. The car rose up several inches as they ejected their great girth. George waved for me to walk over and sit in the car. I sat down and he handed me a Milwaukee’s Best Ice beer from his twelve pack. I cracked it open and took a swallow. I usually try to make it a rule not to have a beer before lunch, but gave in today.

“Do you know what Big S and HIV/AIDS Guy are up to these days?” I asked George.

“Yeap, dey be some dumb-ass niggas, ain’t dey?” George said.

At least George gets his money somewhat legitimately through his taxi service even though he isn’t licensed to do so by the city. George kind of performs a community service for the poor and car-less people in his neighborhood although they do have to pay. It would be much more expensive for them to go through the legitimate taxi firms in town.

“George, why don’t they panhandle up at the Kroger?” I asked speaking of Big S and HIV/AIDS Guy. “That is where all the rich people shop.”

“Dem folks at Kroger won’t let you do that,” George replied. “Dem folks be nervous types and will call the police.”

We both sat and took another drink from our beers.

“You ready for tomorrow?” I asked.

“What about tomorrow?” George asked with a confused tone to his voice.

“You said the other day that you were going to church and were going to be born again,” I replied.

George laughed heartily.

“Man, you know I be drunk and be talkin’ shit,” George said.

“Well, I thought you were serious,” I replied.

“Don’t be payin’ ole George any attention,” George said.

“Well man, I am going to head on home and catch some football games,” I replied.

“Cya my brotha, cya,” George said as he shook my hand.

If Big S or HIV/AIDS Guy disappear for a few days, I will know that their activities finally caught up with them. You can only do stupid shit like that so much until you will get caught. Especially, if you are standing out in front of the very same store you shoplifted from bragging about your exploits. Only time will tell.

A Dangerous Game

HIV/AIDS Guy has made a reappearance at the shopping center. He and Big S are playing a dangerous game these days. The Piggly Wiggly doesn’t have security cameras and the morning employees such as Linda and Virginia are not very attentive. Big S is the point man and watches while HIV/AIDS Guy shoplifts. Normally, Big S just sits out in front of the shopping center asking departing patrons for spare change. I don’t think I have ever seen him go inside the store until lately. I don’t understand why these two would risk going to jail over orange juice, Vienna sausages, and saltine crackers though. That is what HIV/AIDS Guy stole today. These fellows aren’t too bright and even have the audacity to brag about it to me and others down there.

I dread seeing HIV/Aids Guy in that I am too polite most times for my own good. I will usually sit and listen to his lengthy spiel about how sick he is and how he needs money for his medications. He always shows off that tattered hospital identification band on his wrist. He is actually quite fit and well and doesn’t have AIDS at all. That is just his panhandling line and it works quite well in that people are glad to give him a few dollars just to get rid of him.

George soon drove up carrying a few patrons via his fly-by-night taxi service. Two elderly and very hefty black ladies got out of the car and went inside to buy their groceries. The car rose up several inches as they ejected their great girth. George waved for me to walk over and sit in the car. I sat down and he handed me a Milwaukee’s Best Ice beer from his twelve pack. I cracked it open and took a swallow. I usually try to make it a rule not to have a beer before lunch, but gave in today.

“Do you know what Big S and HIV/AIDS Guy are up to these days?” I asked George.

“Yeap, dey be some dumb-ass niggas, ain’t dey?” George said.

At least George gets his money somewhat legitimately through his taxi service even though he isn’t licensed to do so by the city. George kind of performs a community service for the poor and car-less people in his neighborhood although they do have to pay. It would be much more expensive for them to go through the legitimate taxi firms in town.

“George, why don’t they panhandle up at the Kroger?” I asked speaking of Big S and HIV/AIDS Guy. “That is where all the rich people shop.”

“Dem folks at Kroger won’t let you do that,” George replied. “Dem folks be nervous types and will call the police.”

We both sat and took another drink from our beers.

“You ready for tomorrow?” I asked.

“What about tomorrow?” George asked with a confused tone to his voice.

“You said the other day that you were going to church and were going to be born again,” I replied.

George laughed heartily.

“Man, you know I be drunk and be talkin’ shit,” George said.

“Well, I thought you were serious,” I replied.

“Don’t be payin’ ole George any attention,” George said.

“Well man, I am going to head on home and catch some football games,” I replied.

“Cya my brotha, cya,” George said as he shook my hand.

If Big S or HIV/AIDS Guy disappear for a few days, I will know that their activities finally caught up with them. You can only do stupid shit like that so much until you will get caught. Especially, if you are standing out in front of the very same store you shoplifted from bragging about your exploits. Only time will tell.

A Dangerous Game

HIV/AIDS Guy has made a reappearance at the shopping center. He and Big S are playing a dangerous game these days. The Piggly Wiggly doesn’t have security cameras and the morning employees such as Linda and Virginia are not very attentive. Big S is the point man and watches while HIV/AIDS Guy shoplifts. Normally, Big S just sits out in front of the shopping center asking departing patrons for spare change. I don’t think I have ever seen him go inside the store until lately. I don’t understand why these two would risk going to jail over orange juice, Vienna sausages, and saltine crackers though. That is what HIV/AIDS Guy stole today. These fellows aren’t too bright and even have the audacity to brag about it to me and others down there.

I dread seeing HIV/Aids Guy in that I am too polite most times for my own good. I will usually sit and listen to his lengthy spiel about how sick he is and how he needs money for his medications. He always shows off that tattered hospital identification band on his wrist. He is actually quite fit and well and doesn’t have AIDS at all. That is just his panhandling line and it works quite well in that people are glad to give him a few dollars just to get rid of him.

George soon drove up carrying a few patrons via his fly-by-night taxi service. Two elderly and very hefty black ladies got out of the car and went inside to buy their groceries. The car rose up several inches as they ejected their great girth. George waved for me to walk over and sit in the car. I sat down and he handed me a Milwaukee’s Best Ice beer from his twelve pack. I cracked it open and took a swallow. I usually try to make it a rule not to have a beer before lunch, but gave in today.

“Do you know what Big S and HIV/AIDS Guy are up to these days?” I asked George.

“Yeap, dey be some dumb-ass niggas, ain’t dey?” George said.

At least George gets his money somewhat legitimately through his taxi service even though he isn’t licensed to do so by the city. George kind of performs a community service for the poor and car-less people in his neighborhood although they do have to pay. It would be much more expensive for them to go through the legitimate taxi firms in town.

“George, why don’t they panhandle up at the Kroger?” I asked speaking of Big S and HIV/AIDS Guy. “That is where all the rich people shop.”

“Dem folks at Kroger won’t let you do that,” George replied. “Dem folks be nervous types and will call the police.”

We both sat and took another drink from our beers.

“You ready for tomorrow?” I asked.

“What about tomorrow?” George asked with a confused tone to his voice.

“You said the other day that you were going to church and were going to be born again,” I replied.

George laughed heartily.

“Man, you know I be drunk and be talkin’ shit,” George said.

“Well, I thought you were serious,” I replied.

“Don’t be payin’ ole George any attention,” George said.

“Well man, I am going to head on home and catch some football games,” I replied.

“Cya my brotha, cya,” George said as he shook my hand.

If Big S or HIV/AIDS Guy disappear for a few days, I will know that their activities finally caught up with them. You can only do stupid shit like that so much until you will get caught. Especially, if you are standing out in front of the very same store you shoplifted from bragging about your exploits. Only time will tell.

Breakfast with Grubby

This morning I decided to drive over to the Waffle House by the interstate and eat breakfast. Sometimes, it is just so nice just to sit down and have your food brought to you like that. No dishes and pots and pans to wash. I also enjoy that the Waffle House is one of the last places where you can sit, smoke cigarettes, drink unlimited refills of coffee, and read the morning paper.

I ordered a ham and cheese omelete with hash browns, bacon, and an extra order of toast. As I was eating my meal and reading the paper this very grubby looking fellow walked in and sat down in the booth across from me. I tend to have a habit of people watching and the Waffle House always has interesting patrons. This fellow was short with long white hair and a long scruffy and scraggly white beard. He kind of reminded me of an overweight Willie Nelson. At one point he got up to put a quarter in the jukebox playing an old Patsy Cline song.

I kept getting this feeling I was being watched as well. Every time I would look up, this grubby looking fellow was staring at me. It gave me the creeps. He was sitting there drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. I would look up and his piercing eyes would be gazing right at me. I would quickly divert my eyes back to my newspaper and my cup of coffee fearing making eye contact. Maybe that was my mistake. I should have stared back.

I finally had had enough coffee and cigarettes and had read anything worth reading in the newspaper. I finished my cup and placed a two dollar tip on the table and then paid for my meal. Grubby’s eyes were still following my every move. This kind of piqued my paranoia a tad. I walked out and got in my car and drove home.

I wonder why that fellow was so interested in me. He definitely wins this morning’s award for creepy old man. Maybe he was mistaking me for someone else. That’s par for the course for the Waffle House though. It always draws some pretty interesting people off of the interstates; traveling far and wide.

Breakfast with Grubby

This morning I decided to drive over to the Waffle House by the interstate and eat breakfast. Sometimes, it is just so nice just to sit down and have your food brought to you like that. No dishes and pots and pans to wash. I also enjoy that the Waffle House is one of the last places where you can sit, smoke cigarettes, drink unlimited refills of coffee, and read the morning paper.

I ordered a ham and cheese omelete with hash browns, bacon, and an extra order of toast. As I was eating my meal and reading the paper this very grubby looking fellow walked in and sat down in the booth across from me. I tend to have a habit of people watching and the Waffle House always has interesting patrons. This fellow was short with long white hair and a long scruffy and scraggly white beard. He kind of reminded me of an overweight Willie Nelson. At one point he got up to put a quarter in the jukebox playing an old Patsy Cline song.

I kept getting this feeling I was being watched as well. Every time I would look up, this grubby looking fellow was staring at me. It gave me the creeps. He was sitting there drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. I would look up and his piercing eyes would be gazing right at me. I would quickly divert my eyes back to my newspaper and my cup of coffee fearing making eye contact. Maybe that was my mistake. I should have stared back.

I finally had had enough coffee and cigarettes and had read anything worth reading in the newspaper. I finished my cup and placed a two dollar tip on the table and then paid for my meal. Grubby’s eyes were still following my every move. This kind of piqued my paranoia a tad. I walked out and got in my car and drove home.

I wonder why that fellow was so interested in me. He definitely wins this morning’s award for creepy old man. Maybe he was mistaking me for someone else. That’s par for the course for the Waffle House though. It always draws some pretty interesting people off of the interstates; traveling far and wide.

Breakfast with Grubby

This morning I decided to drive over to the Waffle House by the interstate and eat breakfast. Sometimes, it is just so nice just to sit down and have your food brought to you like that. No dishes and pots and pans to wash. I also enjoy that the Waffle House is one of the last places where you can sit, smoke cigarettes, drink unlimited refills of coffee, and read the morning paper.

I ordered a ham and cheese omelete with hash browns, bacon, and an extra order of toast. As I was eating my meal and reading the paper this very grubby looking fellow walked in and sat down in the booth across from me. I tend to have a habit of people watching and the Waffle House always has interesting patrons. This fellow was short with long white hair and a long scruffy and scraggly white beard. He kind of reminded me of an overweight Willie Nelson. At one point he got up to put a quarter in the jukebox playing an old Patsy Cline song.

I kept getting this feeling I was being watched as well. Every time I would look up, this grubby looking fellow was staring at me. It gave me the creeps. He was sitting there drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. I would look up and his piercing eyes would be gazing right at me. I would quickly divert my eyes back to my newspaper and my cup of coffee fearing making eye contact. Maybe that was my mistake. I should have stared back.

I finally had had enough coffee and cigarettes and had read anything worth reading in the newspaper. I finished my cup and placed a two dollar tip on the table and then paid for my meal. Grubby’s eyes were still following my every move. This kind of piqued my paranoia a tad. I walked out and got in my car and drove home.

I wonder why that fellow was so interested in me. He definitely wins this morning’s award for creepy old man. Maybe he was mistaking me for someone else. That’s par for the course for the Waffle House though. It always draws some pretty interesting people off of the interstates; traveling far and wide.

Breakfast with Grubby

This morning I decided to drive over to the Waffle House by the interstate and eat breakfast. Sometimes, it is just so nice just to sit down and have your food brought to you like that. No dishes and pots and pans to wash. I also enjoy that the Waffle House is one of the last places where you can sit, smoke cigarettes, drink unlimited refills of coffee, and read the morning paper.

I ordered a ham and cheese omelete with hash browns, bacon, and an extra order of toast. As I was eating my meal and reading the paper this very grubby looking fellow walked in and sat down in the booth across from me. I tend to have a habit of people watching and the Waffle House always has interesting patrons. This fellow was short with long white hair and a long scruffy and scraggly white beard. He kind of reminded me of an overweight Willie Nelson. At one point he got up to put a quarter in the jukebox playing an old Patsy Cline song.

I kept getting this feeling I was being watched as well. Every time I would look up, this grubby looking fellow was staring at me. It gave me the creeps. He was sitting there drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. I would look up and his piercing eyes would be gazing right at me. I would quickly divert my eyes back to my newspaper and my cup of coffee fearing making eye contact. Maybe that was my mistake. I should have stared back.

I finally had had enough coffee and cigarettes and had read anything worth reading in the newspaper. I finished my cup and placed a two dollar tip on the table and then paid for my meal. Grubby’s eyes were still following my every move. This kind of piqued my paranoia a tad. I walked out and got in my car and drove home.

I wonder why that fellow was so interested in me. He definitely wins this morning’s award for creepy old man. Maybe he was mistaking me for someone else. That’s par for the course for the Waffle House though. It always draws some pretty interesting people off of the interstates; traveling far and wide.

Breakfast with Grubby

This morning I decided to drive over to the Waffle House by the interstate and eat breakfast. Sometimes, it is just so nice just to sit down and have your food brought to you like that. No dishes and pots and pans to wash. I also enjoy that the Waffle House is one of the last places where you can sit, smoke cigarettes, drink unlimited refills of coffee, and read the morning paper.

I ordered a ham and cheese omelete with hash browns, bacon, and an extra order of toast. As I was eating my meal and reading the paper this very grubby looking fellow walked in and sat down in the booth across from me. I tend to have a habit of people watching and the Waffle House always has interesting patrons. This fellow was short with long white hair and a long scruffy and scraggly white beard. He kind of reminded me of an overweight Willie Nelson. At one point he got up to put a quarter in the jukebox playing an old Patsy Cline song.

I kept getting this feeling I was being watched as well. Every time I would look up, this grubby looking fellow was staring at me. It gave me the creeps. He was sitting there drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. I would look up and his piercing eyes would be gazing right at me. I would quickly divert my eyes back to my newspaper and my cup of coffee fearing making eye contact. Maybe that was my mistake. I should have stared back.

I finally had had enough coffee and cigarettes and had read anything worth reading in the newspaper. I finished my cup and placed a two dollar tip on the table and then paid for my meal. Grubby’s eyes were still following my every move. This kind of piqued my paranoia a tad. I walked out and got in my car and drove home.

I wonder why that fellow was so interested in me. He definitely wins this morning’s award for creepy old man. Maybe he was mistaking me for someone else. That’s par for the course for the Waffle House though. It always draws some pretty interesting people off of the interstates; traveling far and wide.

Breakfast with Grubby

This morning I decided to drive over to the Waffle House by the interstate and eat breakfast. Sometimes, it is just so nice just to sit down and have your food brought to you like that. No dishes and pots and pans to wash. I also enjoy that the Waffle House is one of the last places where you can sit, smoke cigarettes, drink unlimited refills of coffee, and read the morning paper.

I ordered a ham and cheese omelete with hash browns, bacon, and an extra order of toast. As I was eating my meal and reading the paper this very grubby looking fellow walked in and sat down in the booth across from me. I tend to have a habit of people watching and the Waffle House always has interesting patrons. This fellow was short with long white hair and a long scruffy and scraggly white beard. He kind of reminded me of an overweight Willie Nelson. At one point he got up to put a quarter in the jukebox playing an old Patsy Cline song.

I kept getting this feeling I was being watched as well. Every time I would look up, this grubby looking fellow was staring at me. It gave me the creeps. He was sitting there drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. I would look up and his piercing eyes would be gazing right at me. I would quickly divert my eyes back to my newspaper and my cup of coffee fearing making eye contact. Maybe that was my mistake. I should have stared back.

I finally had had enough coffee and cigarettes and had read anything worth reading in the newspaper. I finished my cup and placed a two dollar tip on the table and then paid for my meal. Grubby’s eyes were still following my every move. This kind of piqued my paranoia a tad. I walked out and got in my car and drove home.

I wonder why that fellow was so interested in me. He definitely wins this morning’s award for creepy old man. Maybe he was mistaking me for someone else. That’s par for the course for the Waffle House though. It always draws some pretty interesting people off of the interstates; traveling far and wide.

Breakfast with Grubby

This morning I decided to drive over to the Waffle House by the interstate and eat breakfast. Sometimes, it is just so nice just to sit down and have your food brought to you like that. No dishes and pots and pans to wash. I also enjoy that the Waffle House is one of the last places where you can sit, smoke cigarettes, drink unlimited refills of coffee, and read the morning paper.

I ordered a ham and cheese omelete with hash browns, bacon, and an extra order of toast. As I was eating my meal and reading the paper this very grubby looking fellow walked in and sat down in the booth across from me. I tend to have a habit of people watching and the Waffle House always has interesting patrons. This fellow was short with long white hair and a long scruffy and scraggly white beard. He kind of reminded me of an overweight Willie Nelson. At one point he got up to put a quarter in the jukebox playing an old Patsy Cline song.

I kept getting this feeling I was being watched as well. Every time I would look up, this grubby looking fellow was staring at me. It gave me the creeps. He was sitting there drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. I would look up and his piercing eyes would be gazing right at me. I would quickly divert my eyes back to my newspaper and my cup of coffee fearing making eye contact. Maybe that was my mistake. I should have stared back.

I finally had had enough coffee and cigarettes and had read anything worth reading in the newspaper. I finished my cup and placed a two dollar tip on the table and then paid for my meal. Grubby’s eyes were still following my every move. This kind of piqued my paranoia a tad. I walked out and got in my car and drove home.

I wonder why that fellow was so interested in me. He definitely wins this morning’s award for creepy old man. Maybe he was mistaking me for someone else. That’s par for the course for the Waffle House though. It always draws some pretty interesting people off of the interstates; traveling far and wide.

Breakfast with Grubby

This morning I decided to drive over to the Waffle House by the interstate and eat breakfast. Sometimes, it is just so nice just to sit down and have your food brought to you like that. No dishes and pots and pans to wash. I also enjoy that the Waffle House is one of the last places where you can sit, smoke cigarettes, drink unlimited refills of coffee, and read the morning paper.

I ordered a ham and cheese omelete with hash browns, bacon, and an extra order of toast. As I was eating my meal and reading the paper this very grubby looking fellow walked in and sat down in the booth across from me. I tend to have a habit of people watching and the Waffle House always has interesting patrons. This fellow was short with long white hair and a long scruffy and scraggly white beard. He kind of reminded me of an overweight Willie Nelson. At one point he got up to put a quarter in the jukebox playing an old Patsy Cline song.

I kept getting this feeling I was being watched as well. Every time I would look up, this grubby looking fellow was staring at me. It gave me the creeps. He was sitting there drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. I would look up and his piercing eyes would be gazing right at me. I would quickly divert my eyes back to my newspaper and my cup of coffee fearing making eye contact. Maybe that was my mistake. I should have stared back.

I finally had had enough coffee and cigarettes and had read anything worth reading in the newspaper. I finished my cup and placed a two dollar tip on the table and then paid for my meal. Grubby’s eyes were still following my every move. This kind of piqued my paranoia a tad. I walked out and got in my car and drove home.

I wonder why that fellow was so interested in me. He definitely wins this morning’s award for creepy old man. Maybe he was mistaking me for someone else. That’s par for the course for the Waffle House though. It always draws some pretty interesting people off of the interstates; traveling far and wide.

Breakfast with Grubby

This morning I decided to drive over to the Waffle House by the interstate and eat breakfast. Sometimes, it is just so nice just to sit down and have your food brought to you like that. No dishes and pots and pans to wash. I also enjoy that the Waffle House is one of the last places where you can sit, smoke cigarettes, drink unlimited refills of coffee, and read the morning paper.

I ordered a ham and cheese omelete with hash browns, bacon, and an extra order of toast. As I was eating my meal and reading the paper this very grubby looking fellow walked in and sat down in the booth across from me. I tend to have a habit of people watching and the Waffle House always has interesting patrons. This fellow was short with long white hair and a long scruffy and scraggly white beard. He kind of reminded me of an overweight Willie Nelson. At one point he got up to put a quarter in the jukebox playing an old Patsy Cline song.

I kept getting this feeling I was being watched as well. Every time I would look up, this grubby looking fellow was staring at me. It gave me the creeps. He was sitting there drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. I would look up and his piercing eyes would be gazing right at me. I would quickly divert my eyes back to my newspaper and my cup of coffee fearing making eye contact. Maybe that was my mistake. I should have stared back.

I finally had had enough coffee and cigarettes and had read anything worth reading in the newspaper. I finished my cup and placed a two dollar tip on the table and then paid for my meal. Grubby’s eyes were still following my every move. This kind of piqued my paranoia a tad. I walked out and got in my car and drove home.

I wonder why that fellow was so interested in me. He definitely wins this morning’s award for creepy old man. Maybe he was mistaking me for someone else. That’s par for the course for the Waffle House though. It always draws some pretty interesting people off of the interstates; traveling far and wide.

Breakfast with Grubby

This morning I decided to drive over to the Waffle House by the interstate and eat breakfast. Sometimes, it is just so nice just to sit down and have your food brought to you like that. No dishes and pots and pans to wash. I also enjoy that the Waffle House is one of the last places where you can sit, smoke cigarettes, drink unlimited refills of coffee, and read the morning paper.

I ordered a ham and cheese omelete with hash browns, bacon, and an extra order of toast. As I was eating my meal and reading the paper this very grubby looking fellow walked in and sat down in the booth across from me. I tend to have a habit of people watching and the Waffle House always has interesting patrons. This fellow was short with long white hair and a long scruffy and scraggly white beard. He kind of reminded me of an overweight Willie Nelson. At one point he got up to put a quarter in the jukebox playing an old Patsy Cline song.

I kept getting this feeling I was being watched as well. Every time I would look up, this grubby looking fellow was staring at me. It gave me the creeps. He was sitting there drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. I would look up and his piercing eyes would be gazing right at me. I would quickly divert my eyes back to my newspaper and my cup of coffee fearing making eye contact. Maybe that was my mistake. I should have stared back.

I finally had had enough coffee and cigarettes and had read anything worth reading in the newspaper. I finished my cup and placed a two dollar tip on the table and then paid for my meal. Grubby’s eyes were still following my every move. This kind of piqued my paranoia a tad. I walked out and got in my car and drove home.

I wonder why that fellow was so interested in me. He definitely wins this morning’s award for creepy old man. Maybe he was mistaking me for someone else. That’s par for the course for the Waffle House though. It always draws some pretty interesting people off of the interstates; traveling far and wide.

Breakfast with Grubby

This morning I decided to drive over to the Waffle House by the interstate and eat breakfast. Sometimes, it is just so nice just to sit down and have your food brought to you like that. No dishes and pots and pans to wash. I also enjoy that the Waffle House is one of the last places where you can sit, smoke cigarettes, drink unlimited refills of coffee, and read the morning paper.

I ordered a ham and cheese omelete with hash browns, bacon, and an extra order of toast. As I was eating my meal and reading the paper this very grubby looking fellow walked in and sat down in the booth across from me. I tend to have a habit of people watching and the Waffle House always has interesting patrons. This fellow was short with long white hair and a long scruffy and scraggly white beard. He kind of reminded me of an overweight Willie Nelson. At one point he got up to put a quarter in the jukebox playing an old Patsy Cline song.

I kept getting this feeling I was being watched as well. Every time I would look up, this grubby looking fellow was staring at me. It gave me the creeps. He was sitting there drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. I would look up and his piercing eyes would be gazing right at me. I would quickly divert my eyes back to my newspaper and my cup of coffee fearing making eye contact. Maybe that was my mistake. I should have stared back.

I finally had had enough coffee and cigarettes and had read anything worth reading in the newspaper. I finished my cup and placed a two dollar tip on the table and then paid for my meal. Grubby’s eyes were still following my every move. This kind of piqued my paranoia a tad. I walked out and got in my car and drove home.

I wonder why that fellow was so interested in me. He definitely wins this morning’s award for creepy old man. Maybe he was mistaking me for someone else. That’s par for the course for the Waffle House though. It always draws some pretty interesting people off of the interstates; traveling far and wide.

Breakfast with Grubby

This morning I decided to drive over to the Waffle House by the interstate and eat breakfast. Sometimes, it is just so nice just to sit down and have your food brought to you like that. No dishes and pots and pans to wash. I also enjoy that the Waffle House is one of the last places where you can sit, smoke cigarettes, drink unlimited refills of coffee, and read the morning paper.

I ordered a ham and cheese omelete with hash browns, bacon, and an extra order of toast. As I was eating my meal and reading the paper this very grubby looking fellow walked in and sat down in the booth across from me. I tend to have a habit of people watching and the Waffle House always has interesting patrons. This fellow was short with long white hair and a long scruffy and scraggly white beard. He kind of reminded me of an overweight Willie Nelson. At one point he got up to put a quarter in the jukebox playing an old Patsy Cline song.

I kept getting this feeling I was being watched as well. Every time I would look up, this grubby looking fellow was staring at me. It gave me the creeps. He was sitting there drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. I would look up and his piercing eyes would be gazing right at me. I would quickly divert my eyes back to my newspaper and my cup of coffee fearing making eye contact. Maybe that was my mistake. I should have stared back.

I finally had had enough coffee and cigarettes and had read anything worth reading in the newspaper. I finished my cup and placed a two dollar tip on the table and then paid for my meal. Grubby’s eyes were still following my every move. This kind of piqued my paranoia a tad. I walked out and got in my car and drove home.

I wonder why that fellow was so interested in me. He definitely wins this morning’s award for creepy old man. Maybe he was mistaking me for someone else. That’s par for the course for the Waffle House though. It always draws some pretty interesting people off of the interstates; traveling far and wide.

Breakfast with Grubby

This morning I decided to drive over to the Waffle House by the interstate and eat breakfast. Sometimes, it is just so nice just to sit down and have your food brought to you like that. No dishes and pots and pans to wash. I also enjoy that the Waffle House is one of the last places where you can sit, smoke cigarettes, drink unlimited refills of coffee, and read the morning paper.

I ordered a ham and cheese omelete with hash browns, bacon, and an extra order of toast. As I was eating my meal and reading the paper this very grubby looking fellow walked in and sat down in the booth across from me. I tend to have a habit of people watching and the Waffle House always has interesting patrons. This fellow was short with long white hair and a long scruffy and scraggly white beard. He kind of reminded me of an overweight Willie Nelson. At one point he got up to put a quarter in the jukebox playing an old Patsy Cline song.

I kept getting this feeling I was being watched as well. Every time I would look up, this grubby looking fellow was staring at me. It gave me the creeps. He was sitting there drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. I would look up and his piercing eyes would be gazing right at me. I would quickly divert my eyes back to my newspaper and my cup of coffee fearing making eye contact. Maybe that was my mistake. I should have stared back.

I finally had had enough coffee and cigarettes and had read anything worth reading in the newspaper. I finished my cup and placed a two dollar tip on the table and then paid for my meal. Grubby’s eyes were still following my every move. This kind of piqued my paranoia a tad. I walked out and got in my car and drove home.

I wonder why that fellow was so interested in me. He definitely wins this morning’s award for creepy old man. Maybe he was mistaking me for someone else. That’s par for the course for the Waffle House though. It always draws some pretty interesting people off of the interstates; traveling far and wide.