Homebums ...

Years ago, when I lived and worked on the east side, I picked up a hitchhiker near Babb, Everett, in his words, a "homebum," a classically-trained-guitarist-turned-backpack-busker. I was never sure why he was walking south out of Babb or how the hell he'd even got there in the first place; I guess it didn't matter. We became fast friends: a ride to the next town turned to two weeks of him sleeping on the couch in the cabin. We hiked Glacier when I wasn't working; he walked Cody as a "favor" to me while I worked. I grubbed him food from the employee dining room and stole him socks and a belt from the sporting goods store where I worked. He invited me to ride the rails with him to Washington. He told me Cody would be fine to ride, too. I didn't hesitate to say no even though I wanted to; I knew my place in all this. One year later, I came back out here, and I found my place in all of this ...