Man, that's a lot different than riding the bicycle a mile or so when 14 to ask the hobum if he'd get us some Colt 45 or a jug of Red Mountain if we paid for a bottle of Gallo White Port for him.
Small town...everyone knew everyone. No bums where I am from, but there were plenty of dirt bags. Trouble was, I didn't need people talking about what I was up to.
That, and I could hunt the entire way up there back in the glory 90's. Can't quite do that now
I have a feeling Ted, is that pard who got you into a ton of shît, good and bad. But, you always came through it with only a bruise, a sore dick, and a lifetime of memories hunting things in between.
😎
I had one of them "pards".
Got into all sorts of good and bad things...............got out of them mostly too. Started in grade school with the nuns, continued until sometimes it was the popo.
One memorable time it involved a LOT of bruises.
Did a whole lot of fishing, but never got to hunt with him before he passed. One of those parts of a "ton of scheidt" he got into did him in finally.
The desert is a true treasure for him who seeks refuge from men and the evil of men. In it is contentment In it is death and all you seek (Quoted from "The Bleeding of the Stone" Ibrahim Al-Koni)
