For most of my life, things were fairly normal. I had a few friends and a goldfish. I shared a log cabin with an old guy who used to work on a gold dredge. He didn't like to talk about the "good old days" because he said there was nothing good about them. He had a paranoid streak and would stand outside the front door everyday. "They are coming," he said.
One morning, out of the blue, he asked me if I'd like to see where he used to work. I had nothing better to do so I said yes. We rode his beat-up Ford pickup over miles and miles of torn up highway. It took half the day. Finally we reached a little town. "We're here," he said.
If you would like to keep up with my meanderings, sign up to be notified of new posts. Peace.