(no subject)
Louisville is the same as it was 6 months ago, 2 years ago, 6 years ago. Only thing is, more people have dreadlocks now. Weird. Denver always looks so good from a distance.
Plans for the future:
Move to Montana and grow a very large beard. Wear a lot of heavy red flannel and drink at a bar with old leathery men. Maybe start chewing tobacco or smoking non-filtered cigarettes. Possibly I will lose a leg "in the war"...Somehow. I will then put a wooden peg on my stump and continue to drink at the old man bars. Gaining slow notoriety by not talking to anyone, I will become "the youngest old guy" any of the locals have met. One day, walking back to my rented room, maybe I'll see a burning building. Rushing into the building I will save three children, one of them being a small infant. To the shouts of joy I will pretend to hear a cat's meow and rush back into the burning building. "Is that a cat? Stay here!" No cat will be inside. The burning building will be my excuse to leave Montana. Kicking open a firey door I will escape into the dark forest. Living on bugs and rain water until I can catch a train back down into Denver. Once there I will resume my life of food running and sleeping all day. Telling the kids I lost the leg in an accident never to speak of it again. Unbeknownst to those around me, I will be a legend in a small town in Montana:
"He came in one day and started working. Drank like a sea captain with a broken heart. Only had one leg, but I seen him kick the shit outta old Jake Stone over a game of spades a time ago. He didn't talk much and the only name he ever gave us was, Bo. One day Mildreds house burned down. Her man and her made it out, but Sara, Luke and little Jolene, got stuck. Up comes Bo with whiskey legs on, out from the bar. I was across the street and trying to find a hose. But I saw 'em. Soon as ol' Bo saw that fire he straightened up, put his jacket over his head and rushed in to those flames. One by one he brought out those Larrom kids. Lastly little Jolene wailing her head off. I saw him take a breath, put the coat back over his head and dart back into that damned inferno. Something about a cat, though Mildred says she never had no pets. Well, we never did see Bo again. Some say his leg caught fire and he got trapped. Other say he just moved on. Couldn't bear to say good bye, I guess. I like that one myself. And a few others, not me mind you, swear some nights you can go out to the forrest and hear old Bo, the youngest old man there ever was, slurping his beer, and sucking it from his mustache, ready to run back into town when we really need it."
Plans for the future:
Move to Montana and grow a very large beard. Wear a lot of heavy red flannel and drink at a bar with old leathery men. Maybe start chewing tobacco or smoking non-filtered cigarettes. Possibly I will lose a leg "in the war"...Somehow. I will then put a wooden peg on my stump and continue to drink at the old man bars. Gaining slow notoriety by not talking to anyone, I will become "the youngest old guy" any of the locals have met. One day, walking back to my rented room, maybe I'll see a burning building. Rushing into the building I will save three children, one of them being a small infant. To the shouts of joy I will pretend to hear a cat's meow and rush back into the burning building. "Is that a cat? Stay here!" No cat will be inside. The burning building will be my excuse to leave Montana. Kicking open a firey door I will escape into the dark forest. Living on bugs and rain water until I can catch a train back down into Denver. Once there I will resume my life of food running and sleeping all day. Telling the kids I lost the leg in an accident never to speak of it again. Unbeknownst to those around me, I will be a legend in a small town in Montana:
"He came in one day and started working. Drank like a sea captain with a broken heart. Only had one leg, but I seen him kick the shit outta old Jake Stone over a game of spades a time ago. He didn't talk much and the only name he ever gave us was, Bo. One day Mildreds house burned down. Her man and her made it out, but Sara, Luke and little Jolene, got stuck. Up comes Bo with whiskey legs on, out from the bar. I was across the street and trying to find a hose. But I saw 'em. Soon as ol' Bo saw that fire he straightened up, put his jacket over his head and rushed in to those flames. One by one he brought out those Larrom kids. Lastly little Jolene wailing her head off. I saw him take a breath, put the coat back over his head and dart back into that damned inferno. Something about a cat, though Mildred says she never had no pets. Well, we never did see Bo again. Some say his leg caught fire and he got trapped. Other say he just moved on. Couldn't bear to say good bye, I guess. I like that one myself. And a few others, not me mind you, swear some nights you can go out to the forrest and hear old Bo, the youngest old man there ever was, slurping his beer, and sucking it from his mustache, ready to run back into town when we really need it."