Oh, right. Larry.
He caught me just before the eleven
o'clock buses pulled in. I walked over and he offered to show me
where the hygiene dispensing place was. Finally happy to have him
show me this mythical valhalla of deodorant and shaving cream, I
accepted.
Because we'd be missing lunch at the
shelter in order to go on our adventure, I offered to break open my
EBT card and buy us both sandwiches at the Safeway. He showed me how
to call and check the balance on my card.
Larry has a habit of hitting someone in
the arm to begin a sentence. It's like the upside down exclamation
point of his personal punctuation scheme. In the first five minutes
of our trip, my left arm was already aching.
We had a a nice trip up First Street. A
few blocks west of downtown proper, he turned up a dirt and gravel
road that pulled up a hill between an abandoned shop and an auto
parts store. His path cut to the left and he began pointing out
familiar buildings with me as we continued on a side-street further
west.
Eventually, my curiosity gave way to
frustration and my frustration gave way to the sort of pure amusement
that only life's inevitable, blithe stupidity can evoke.
The twisting path we'd followed and
Larry's incoherent directions both led me to a small building just
next door to the Thrift Store.
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