Seedy Side of Town…

I hiked four miles this morning in a little over an hour. I was exhausted by the time I walked up my driveway to home. I hiked 18 miles the previous two days and it had worn me down. Undaunted, I set out again after lunch at a more leisurely gait without my heavy Kelty pack upon my back. I needed to tone things down today and rest. I didn’t make it very far though. I was just bushed today. I maybe hiked an additional mile.

There is a secluded bench beyond a high brick wall behind Charter Bank on the back part of town next to the train tracks. I made my way down there and sat upon it and lit up a cigarette and just thought for a long time as trains clamored by. It was another beautiful spring like day with highs in the high seventies. The weather service had predicted severe thunderstorms for the afternoon, but none materialized. I was sorely disappointed. I was hoping for one last gasp of southern summer weather before winter.

As I sat upon the bench, a haggard looking fellow came walking down the tracks with a small backpack whose contents were clanging nosily inside. It sounded like cooking gear. That would have driven me crazy as I hiked, but apparently he was not fazed. He saw me smoking and walked my way. I watched him warily as he came closer and made a beeline straight towards me. As he came closer, I got a better look at him. He had on an old chicken shit green National Guard overcoat and a pair of heavily stained and faded blue jeans. He was about three days past a shave and had long, greasy grey hair that wrapped around his shoulders capped with an old, dirty baseball cap. It would have been easy to mistake him for a bad Willie Nelson impersonator. I knew he was after a smoke. The look of the fellow just bespoke, “I’m a smoker without cigarettes.” Like a great psychic, my premonition came to fruition.

“Buddy,” He said. “I sure could use an extra cigarette if you’ve got one.”

“I knew it!” I thought bemused at his words when he asked for a cigarette.

I begrudgingly reached into my shirt pocket, pulled out my pack, and knocked it on my other arm to push out a cigarette and held the pack out towards him. He reached for the revealed cigarette and put it in his mouth.

“Where are you headed if you don’t mind me asking,” I said as he lit the cigarette with a book of matches he pulled out of his coat pocket.

“Oh, I live around here,” He said. “I’ve just been across the river to pick up some stuff from my sister.”

I have spent a lot of time downtown around the tracks and have never, ever seen this guy around. I didn’t believe his story at all. He didn’t stay long and continued his walk on down the tracks. I can’t say I wasn’t kind of relieved to be bereft of his presence. I have learned a certain “street sense” dealing with the gang over the years and something about this guy just didn’t sit right with me. He was just acting too nervous, jittery, and evasive like he had something to hide. I guess these encounters are par for the course for hanging out on the seedy, backside of town.