brothers, part 20

We’re listening to Lisa Bastoni on a chilly October morning. The dogs, in the next room, may or may not be creating mischief. We’re on the honor system here, and there is no honor among doggos.

I’m flopped on the couch reading a book written by a runner whose daughter has Asperger’s. How does one fit in when things are different?

Funny. I don’t think Rick and I ever fit in. He, an introverted poet. I, a crazy homeless guy held back from his true potential by having a home.

It’s not so bad, the author Sophie Walker learns of life with her daughter. It’s just different. There’s a time to let it go, Bastoni sings.

There is still joy, June told me. I didn’t understand then, but maybe I do now. A quiet contentment on a dreary day.

We eat pie. We watch the rain. We agree our feet are cold. I know what it must have been like for the old guys at the Vancourt store, sitting by the store and drinking Dr Pepper with peanuts, watching the world.

Life isn’t fair. Nobody said it would be. Still, it’s our life. It’s all right to cry when you need to cry, Bastoni says. But I don’t think I need to.

So much to say that he’ll never hear. That’s OK. We’re here.

Saying I love you isn’t even close to what I feel, Lisa sings.

We go out for a walk and get caught in a downpour. A few puddles later, we’re kids again.

We make it back home, and Lisa Bastoni is singing about the doggos of New Orleans. Rick goes in the other room. He may or not be creating mischief. We’re on the honor system, and there is no honor among desperados.

The album plays on. Eventually, it will end end. I love listening to it while I can.

About gary

no sock monkeys were harmed in the making of this blog.
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