Have you ever been to Glocca Morra?

“Have you ever been to Glocca Morra?” I asked George early this morning.

As is usual this time of year in the South, the days are very warm and the nights are very cool. We sat in George’s car with the engine on and the heat running trying to warm up. George’s car smells of old well used sweaty sneakers and stale cigars. Not exactly the most olfactory pleasing thing first thing in the morning.

“Glocca what?” George said as he laughed.

“I don’t know either,” I said. “It was just something the homeless guy wrote on his blog the other day; sounds tropical. Sounded like he was fixing to take off on another one of his road trips.”

“Dat motherfucker be more full of shit than a five gallon bucket of cow manure,” George said as I reached into my backpack to bring out my camera. “If he can travel to tropical places then he can drive a car like me and make a living.”

I often keep George informed on what the so called homeless guy is doing. We both find him fascinating in a weird feel sorry for ineptitude kind of way. I tend to trust George’s street instincts on this matter and agree the guy is full of shit. George says he knows a con artist when he sees one.

“Come on. Let me take a picture,” I said as I turned my camera on as the Canon sound rang out in the car.

“You ain’t plasterin’ my mug all over dem internets,” He said as he pushed my camera away.

I laughed. I did so want to put a picture of George upon the blog. I don’t want to endanger him though.

“What are you going to do today?” George then asked me as we both lit up cigars watching the early morning people coming to and fro from the shopping center.

“My life is simple,” I replied, “And has to be. I will probably just take it easy. Write about this. Eat a good lunch. Try not to drink. Take my medications, etc.”

“Sounds like a nice life,” George said as the blue smoke of his cigar billowed around his face casting a hazy hue to the now warm air in the car.

“I know it sounds nice,” I said, “But it is hard for me to maintain and can be a struggle. My normal state is chaos.”

“You ain’t dat crazy,” George said. “You white boys just all tend to be a little off.”

I burst out laughing at George saying that. He is probably right. My good friend Charlie says we are all a little crazy in our own way in my defense. I don’t like to delve too much into my mental issues though with George as he will get drunk and blather about them.

I left George to sit in his car waiting for his first patron of the day as I walked down to buy two $1.99 bacon, egg, and cheese biscuits and a large coffee from the diner. As I walked home, in the cool morning air, eating my breakfast, I noticed so many cool photo opportunities for me to explore today. Maybe I will pry myself from this computer long enough to get them upon my photo blog once the sun has risen high and the light is just right for photos. It will be good for me. I have been trying not to be a hermit and to stay in the house as I tend to do when feeling ill. Calmer days have arrived. It feels good to be back. I could never write like this when I on in one of my “episodes” as my father calls them. Good day.