Sweet Friendship.
The Devil will find work for idle hands to do.
I wonder what Vincent is up to?
I am surrounded by a blur of motion and it is not even 1:00PM, yet. It is just past noon. The volume on the overhead hi-fi is turned to 10, the sweet spot for Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. The last thing this room needs is more noise.
I just had the most interesting conversation with a truck driver. Truck drivers are the backbone of America. They are blue collar heroes. I would rather talk to a truck driver than to someone who matriculated in lesbian dance theory. Your conversational mileage may vary.
My son is a truck driver. I am very proud of him. He drives the big rigs. He has the physique to prove it. There is nothing more noble than a convoy.
This guy, like most people, has a very interesting life story to share.
It is always nice to make new acquaintances. Acquaintances can become friends, unless they are neighbors. When someone is a neighbor, they are always a neighbor until they move away, the way an in-law will always be an in-law.
We all have our role to play in this dramatic romantic comedy we call life. There is no point in complaining. At least we passed the audition.
Good fences make good neighbors.
The truck driver I was talking to is a New Orleans native who mistook me for an equal. As everyone who knows my innermost thoughts knows, I find this mistaken identification the highest compliment of all. There is only one way to solve a puzzle.
Riddles are different.
The other day, Vincent and I walked into a bar together. This rarely happens. Python Lady said, “Well, look at who it is! Everybody’s favorite lovable scamp and everybody’s favorite lovable curmudgeon!” Vincent and I looked over our shoulders. There was nobody behind us.
Python Lady is an enigma.
The truck driver I was talking to works for himself. I meet a lot of people on my rounds who are self-employed. Some of them are attorneys. Many of them are real estate agents. Everyone else is something else.
This truck driver I was talking to has been self-employed for about a year. He told me that he has a lot to think about, managing his business, growing it, while doing all the work himself. He on constant alert all the time. It is all he thinks about. I know the feeling.
Being self-employed, like a farmer, is living like a caveman in civilization. Getting ahead is a matter of luck and wits with no one else to rely on. If his business keeps him up at night, he will be fine. He has only been at it for a year.
I enjoy talking with self-employed New Orleanians. Happiness loves company. I live in an organic community with more layers than a quantum onion.
The latest issue of P.I. Magazine arrived in the mail today, hot off the press.
Behind the paywall, I will tell you a New Orleans secret. I will tell you why this native New Orleans truck driver paid me the highest compliment of all.