Date: April 13, 2016

From the other day on FB

I finally got a laptop. Now I can communicate with my new friends as well as my old friends. My window is an hour or so that I sit in Starbucks because the balky wifi in this old motel room I call home just doesn’t work all the time, although it seems to be working right now.

I was laying in bed trying to sleep but too many thoughts were racing around in my empty head so here I am. A couple of days ago I wrote a rather revealing piece about my marriage. An old friend whom I have not seen in about 45 years, Bill Simpich, wrote something to the effect that it was rather bold to be so open and that good things were going to happen. Well, good things already have happened. And as far as being open…..I have often said that I don’t know what the truth is, but I know if one is not honest one will never find it.

This journey, which I was forced into, started out as an escape. An escape from a broken marriage, from the cold winter winds of New England and became some sort of a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World race to find the truth. I had to slow down and discover my own advice….honestly would lead me there. I found my laugh today, I talked to everyone I passed on the street, I had a long discussion about this poor presidential field with a biker at my motel. And folks, if you want to find out who Trump appeals to get out of the great eastern suburban areas and you will see.

Take some advice from an aging hipster-doofus…it is not the embarrassing things I have said and done that I am the most ashamed of. It is the things that I should have said and should have done when I should have said and done them that shame me the the most…….never again.

In the wee hours

All of life’s daily insults are discussed outside the rooms. Tears are shed. Voices raised and issues are settled over ciggies and Budweiser. My next door neighbors, a biker couple from Texas, invited me into their room to show me their colors. Colors are leather vests with the club patches on them. I made the incredible error of touching his patch and was colorfully informed not to do it again….whoops. They are good folk but don’t stand a chance. And by that I mean they will be scratching for money to pay the bills until they don’t have to anymore. Life has ignored them, America has little use for them. They still find a way.


Pinecrest Motel

The Pinecrest Motel is a cheap one story cement block building that attracts the occasional traveler but is really a home for local ne’er-do-well’s and drifters looking for the greener grasses that will never be found. I have been here a week and it looks like I’ll be here another waiting for my cargo trailer. The occasional travelers I never meet but I am down with all the rest. This is a side of America that one from Greenwich rarely runs into and it may seem grim but it’s real. And real is what I am looking for.