… seized by some insane impulse,  stole a girly magazine (i think it was called Stag) from a rack just inside the front door of a corner drug store after paying a nickel for a pack of Juicy Fruit gum. 

continued …

The pharmacist came outside staring at me knowing something wasn’t quite right.

Acting as nonchalantly as possible I sauntered across the street toward a little park with a huge oak tree where the statue of Father Marquette was still covered with pigeon images-2shit … like he was five years earlier when my dad bitched about it for the rest of the day (during a family vacation) … unrolled my sleeping bag on the back side of the tree and read my girly magazine in the blue light of a street lamp … Father Marquette staring over my shoulder … mostly disappointed with the pictures and the tough guy stories inside until i fell asleep.

Next morning I washed up at the diner across the street, ate two breakfasts; scrambled eggs and bacon then pancakes with sausage, washed it all down with two big glasses of chocolate milk, grabbed my pack and bag, walked two blocks,  stuck out my thumb on M-23 heading south toward to St. Ignace to begin my journey home.

continued …

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