freshly 25 again.
8 August 2012 § Leave a comment
21 July 2012
Occasionally people ask me where I live. Most of the time, I point to the boat, my bunk, or wherever my backpack is and say, “there,” to which I receive either a confused or deeply understanding reaction.
I’d like to think that when I provide those answers I’m being sarcastic or in some way facetious, poking fun at my gypsy sense of homelessness. The problem is that the more I say those things, the more I believe them, and the less facetious they are.
I have nowhere in particular to go from here. This morning I purchased my ticket to Anchorage, using up the very last of my funds. I have one hundred and one dollars to my name, and am freer for it.
Standing next to the Dillingham airport, watching 32-seat planes carry deckhands home. I want so much to be in the air right now, on to the next form of transportation – liberated, hopefully with a check in my pocket that may dwindle to nothing before i’m ready to fish again.
My life could use a change. How or what is a mystery. Therein lies truth.