Middle-Aged Man

With Apologies to Jack

2

In the month of March 2019, having saved a certain amount from old corporate benefits, I was ready to go to the West Coast. A conference sent an email from Portland, saying I should come out for all the agents. They swore they could get me in the meeting room. I wrote back and said I’d be satisfied with any agent who got what I was doing, what I’m about and such. I also wrote back and forth with friends collected in prior experiences and now located at various points along the way. I was expected to arrive in 20 days. My family were all in good accord with my trip to the West; I said it would do me good, I’d been “working” so hard all winter and staying in too much; they didn’t even complain when I told them I’d need a different car so as to not hitchhike some. All they wanted was for me to come back in one piece. So, leaving my half-manuscripts sitting in folders on my desktop, and folding back my comfortable home sheets for the last time one morning, I left with my nylon bag in which a few fundamental things were packed and took off for the Pacific Ocean with the credit and ATM cards in my pocket.

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