“Greetings! When are you due here in Portland? Do you have a ride from the train station? I wish for your strength and safe passage.”
-A fellow Fighter and training partner by text
[This old hoodrat answered that he had a ride from the train station as it occurred to him how lucky he was to have two men in a seething city concerned about his health and arrival, with the other busily acquiring black market medicines to keep this geezer out of the clutches of the Medical Coven of Fiends who had recently usurped control of the collective lie called America.]
“Are you willing to meet this Saturday morning at 9:30? Could start at the park near you but I also know of a covered school park further east.”
-Monday, October 25
…
Two days before a fighter from Pennsylvania texted me the conformation that he had shipped training sticks and gloves to my Portland destination, where two youths and three men await to resume training.
As I considered this kind Fortune—that Fate is not always a rancid and embittered beast—a dainty knock was heard on this cheap hotel room door in a disreputable portion of California. And as I opened it, a beautiful woman some two decades my junior—a woman who if I were king of the world I would breed with one of the Klitschko brothers to generate rollerball players—stood smiling hopefully, that this runty crust of a man, was as happy to see her as she was him.
This clear Wednesday, as I clean the room and leave the mostly undrunk bottle of Bacardi for the room attendant and check the rucksack containing all of life's necessaries other than fellow fighters and dainty ego lighters—and recall that everything within that pack, and to include the pack itself, was gifted to this fortunate hobo, wonder intrudes... How lucky can one worn-out yeti be?
Having stopped making my way and accepting the befalling of what may, it seems almost that the world that has so hated my mind, has forgotten that I am among its most deplorable kind.
I feel almost like the mock king of Siam permitted to enjoy the rule of a nation in February, to include use of the actual King's many darling concubines, before the ritual extermination of this imposture and the return of the true despot.
Thank you, all of you who have invited me to your towns and homes, eased my way and have treated me so well that I am forever homesick for places both blighted and pristine.
By the time this missive posts I should have come and gone from the place I am now headed with a childlike hope to return.
-James, Emmeryville, California
quote" And as I opened it, a beautiful woman some two decades my junior—a woman who if I were king of the world I would breed with one of the Klitschko brothers to generate rollerball players—stood smiling hopefully, that this runty crust of a man, was as happy to see her as she was him."
Nothing better than a woman happy to see 'her' man.
of course the inverse is that look of "medusa" when said woman is not happy.