Pat Sky has died, and I'll miss him even though it's been over fifty years since I last saw him.
It's been a long while now since I got where I wasn't going. But it happened all the time when I was younger.
One of the Baltimore friends had spent, or misspent, a youth working in carnivals and small circus'. As a sideshow side job, he'd dabbled in ( his words not mine) swallowing sharp objects and flame swallowing.
If you were me in the '60s and early '70s, you always walked with one shoulder higher than the other.
"Wes, there is no excuse. It's the proverbial choice of the Lady or the tiger."
My vocabulary was large. My lack of formal education equaled it.
We had been better off before the Teahead of the August Moon decided to improve himself.
After leaving home, I hitched, hiked, and moved about with abandon.
I would have loved to join the Establishment. They did not want me.
My best friend Bill had a favorite phrase that would pop up anytime he'd have to think his way out of some idiot situation he'd into which he'd fallen. He'd have to "cogitate my veritabilities."