tea hobo

There are two things I hate more than anything, and both of them happened in a matter of less than twenty minutes. I’m not one to complain, but if there was ever a situation where it was warranted, this is it. The first thing that happened was that I got a phone call from my ex. I can be having a magnificent day, all is well in the world and bang-one of her calls and I’m ready to call Billy Crystal in that mobster-goes-to-the-shrink flick. What is that movie called? You don’t remember either? Damn!

So she calls, I try to talk some sense into her, and eventually I just lose it. I’m cussing and hollering and folk are looking at me…eventually I had to get up and leave my spot just to finish the call with her. I ask myself all the time why I ever married that woman in the first place.

People ask me what finally did it-why I’m not with her no more, and the truth is it was tea. My tea drinking pissed that crazy lady off for years and finally she snapped and almost tried to kill me in my sleep. She said I was nicer when I drank whiskey, but that when I went all crazy and started with tea instead…that’s when she says I lost it.

Pay her no mind though. Quitting with the whiskey and the vodka and rum and and and…quitting all that was the best thing I ever did. I know she’s right, though. I know if I’d not picked up the tea, I’d have never ended up out here in the elements. Most people think of a hobo as being a drunk, but I had to quit drinking to lose everything and my damned mind too. My brain never did me no good anyway. Useless it is-my damned brain.

The other thing I hate, and it was only a quarter of an hour after her call that that happened, is when I let my tea over-steep. I used to deal with it when she’d leave the bag in there too long, but I hated it. I was like a bull over there in Spain when he saw that red towel being waved round whenever she did that. I told her over and over not to leave the tea in there for more than the prescribed time. Did she listen? The hell she did. That woman wouldn’t listen if her damned life depended on it.

So here I am with her phone call still running through my mind and then my tea’s too strong on top of it all. It’s enough to make a man lose his marbles.

(blogger's note: this is complete and utter prose. Totally fictional. I'm neither homeless nor separated from my wife. I'm like Joni Mitchell in that song about playing real good for free. I live a comfortable life, and sometimes let my imagination get the best of me when I blog. Please don't worry, ok?)