A Funny Story

It's sunny today. The sunlight reflecting off of the snow is blinding. The sky is Montana Blue. Look in your box of Crayolas, and pick out the one marked "Azure", That's Montana Blue.

There are a lot of little animal tracks in the snow. One is, I think, a Fox. You can see where it has been sniffing around for little mousies.

"Love to eat them mousies . . .
Mousies what I love to eat!
Bite they little heads off,
Nibble on they tiny feet!"
                         B. Kliban


I have been, as usual, sitting at the confuser all morning, reading my mail, and webcomics.  From time to time, I wander into the kitchen, get a cup of coffee, then head back into my lair. You could call it a den, but Bears have dens, and us cats don't like bears, so we have lairs.  Officially, I guess you could call it an Office, or a Study, but if you could see the state of disarray in which it is in, you would agree with my previous assessment. 

I have to go in to town a little early today. Have a business meeting, and need to stop by the pharmacy. The Drug Store operates out of the back of some guy's van. 


Thinking of that, here's a true story from the bad-old-days.


We were living in a little house on the beach in Oxnard. One of the young men in the neighborhood had a dope route. Now, I don't know if that goes on today, because I have been out of that lifestyle for many years, but at the time, it was fairly common.


He started out on foot, carrying a paper shopping bag with pot in it. He was evidently fairly well connected, because he usually had several variaties from which to choose.


His business gres, and he was able to buy a bicycle with a basket on it. Bigger bags, larger selection of merchandise.


The guy was a good salesman, and his prices were reasonable. He kept tract of his customer's needs. How much, how often, etc. He almost always had "a little something special" of which he would share a sample, and we would end up buying what ever it was. I must say that whatever it happened to be, it was always mind blowingly special. Remind me, and I will tell you the story about the Penguin, one day.


Well. Business got better, and his increased mobility created a larger client base, and better income. This allowed him to buy a motorcycle. It had nice saddle bags in which he carried an ever increasing supply.


Now, mind you, this was all done in broad daylight. We were all a bunch of young hippies living colorfully at the beach. No one thought it odd that young folk wandered around visiting one another, drinking coffee, and visiting. He said it was safer to just blend in with the community.


In a month or two, he showed up with a car. I don't know where he came up with it, but it was what I think they called a "Salesman's coupe".  It had a large trunk with shelves in it. We used to see the Fuller Brush man, and the Watkins man driving them. He would pop open that trunk lid, and, even after all these years, it makes my eyes red just thinking about it.


Then one day he took a bunch of acid, got paranoid, and turned himself in to the police. Within three days about 150 people moved out of the neighborhood, leaving no forwarding address. 


Enough of that.mI have to go to work.


Agape
Lee