Latest posts by scotchnaut (see all)
My diary is filled with various loving tributes to the many, many blades I have in my collection. (Thankfully, no one talks about Knife Control) Much like any artist I’ve felt the need recently to expand my skill set, but how?
The non-profit I visited did so many things for those without a home. They seemed to have an answer for every issue for guys and women trying to get back in the work force. No address? They set up a phone number that prospective employers could leave a message at. Lost ID? They provided assistance to those jumping through the various hoops required to get birth certificates and Social Security cards. Lack of transportation? Temporary bus passes and volunteers to drive the newly-employed to work. I had a Dodge Caravan and this was my way in.
Four guys every day. That was the routine. I’d drop them off in the morning, maybe pick up one or two at night-the rest would get back to whatever passed for shelter one way or another. The organization would subtly lean on me to grab their most promising prospects at night. Giving them a bit more structure than most made their ‘numbers’ look good in the long run. I knew the game-funding doesn’t just bubble up from empty space. Stats matter when the board is making a presentation.
Jason was a likable kid-he was that long-limbed, gawky type that never quite grew into his body. He was-I’m guessing-about 24 or so but looked as though he was 10 years older. Deep down the youngster was an optimist but his back-story was one I’d heard before. When he was 16 he got his 15 year-old girlfriend pregnant. He lived in a small town and his parents were prominent members in the church and business community. His Dad claimed to have sent him off to a boarding school but when they arrived at the bus depot he was handed $200 and a one-way ticket to a city three states away. After the money ran out he was sleeping in parks and hanging out with addicts-“I’d been beaten up so many times, I stopped counting after a month and a half”, he once told me.
After I did a rudimentary calculation I asked him one time, “Did you ever get your driver’s license?” He said that his dad let him drive down some back roads when they went hunting but he was out the door before he was legal. “Tell you what-maybe sometime I can let you behind the wheel and you can see what it’s like to drive again. The way things are going, you’ll have your own car in no time.” His face lit up and his grin stays with me to this day.
Back at the office I’d been letting hints drop to the effect that I had suspicions that my boy was back on drugs but I wasn’t quite sure. Everything was set.
It was a Friday heading into a long weekend and Jason was so excited. He shared with me that he’d recently met and was dating a girl he chatted up at Walmart. She was a cashier and things were going great. “Well, somebody better start practicing their driving”, I said. “I know of a lonely old road about three miles from here but I’m gonna be the passenger in the back seat and you’ll be the chauffeur like I’ve been to you.” He tipped his battered cap-“Yes Sir!” and smiled that smile.
A garrote that you’ve fashioned with your own hands is a thing of beauty in its simplicity. A small length of rope, two pieces of wood with a hole in the center that the rope can loop around and be tied to? Less is indeed more. I asked him to keep his eyes on the road and to slow down as I slipped directly behind him. I had been looking forward to the sound that would be made as I crushed his windpipe but, as I learned after doing a bit of homework online, no air to carry it, no sound. Jason, you let me down…
TO THE GAME!
DACA Killers/Time-Out Squanderers:
[prays to non-existent football gods for result that temporarily brings balance to the world]
You know what you’re here for.