I woke the next day with $50 in my pocket and an easy decision to make.  I stumbled over to the orifice and handed Manuel $30 for another night.  Cool, that leaves me with....  ok....  $20 and endless possibilities for the day ahead.  Spent the morning walking the back streets of town, checking out the scene and avoiding the collected masses.  Definitely a very cool place with awesome houses and interesting people to meet.  I had left Loki at the rig so that I could hit up the library for some uptime...  they couldn’t provide so I stole an access line from an Internet Kiosk for a quickie flash session.  Then I went back to get him so we could go shoot photos and give him some face time around town.  Dogs are, like I said, allowed in most places and the beaches don’t give a damn as long as you scoop the poop. 

While inside the Clipper getting prepared for the afternoon’s events, Loki suddenly went superfly-ballistic.  Lunging at the front windows and barking to holy high hell.  What I saw looking through the front passenger window would have stricken fear into the hearts of any good tv fan... 

His name was Bob and he was a spitting image for Bob from Twin Peaks...  I shit you not.  I was momentarily paralyzed.  I hopped out the back with Loki hot on my ass where we see Bob hoist two icy Budweisers in the air and give a wide, moldy green grin. 

“How about a beer?” 
“Yes, definitely.” I said without missing a beat. 

Bob hobbled over to the picnic table with the aid of a twisted cane, his legs severely crippled and barely able to support his frail body.  Although Bob was a horrific sight to behold, Loki immediately took to him, which fortunately confirmed my instant analysis that Bob was non-threatening. 

Soon we were lost in conversation about his life as a Harley and Sprint Car fanatic down in Connecticut.  Bob was a mechanic for other people’s equipment and stayed squarely centered in the scene around him.  Then, from out of nowhere... 

“Hey Gimp!” 

A large raucous guy in ballhuggers and a cut-off oxford was approaching from the Winnebago across the street as Bob nudged me, saying, “That’s me...  the Gimp.” 

I soon met Craig, Bob’s traveling companion and brother in Budweiser.  He drove Sprint Cars (and the RV when they traveled) and soon we were all happily shooting the shit and swilling beer.  Craig and Bob were looking for a venue in town.  I told them that I was positive they existed but didn’t know exactly where to direct them.  They thanked me and headed in the direction of town. 

I finished gathering up my shit and then Loki and I headed out on our own for a glorious day. 

When I returned a couple of hours later, I could see Bob sitting out front of his rig on a serious nod.  I grabbed a couple of cold ones from my fridge and immediately headed over with Loki.  Craig was shaking his head slowly...  “She killed him man.” 

“What happened?” 

Bob had just barely made it to town before his body gave out.  They had finally scored but it was some bad shit and Bob got thrown out of the bar he was in, nearly getting arrested in the process.  Craig had barely gotten him into a cab and back to the campground and safety.  He was in and out while Craig told the story and we took plugs from a frosty bottle of Rumplemintz. 

When he eventually came to, he made his way to the table and we talked for a bit.  As it turns out, Bob is 42 and has had Cerebal Palsy his entire life.  He had a couple of operations on his legs as a boy which enabled him to crudely hobble around and he needs a steady stream of heroin to keep his agonizing pain at bay.  I sat in awe listening to his story since my preconceived notion was that he was simply a Harley junkie who fucked himself up in a stupid motorcycle accident.  I guess I was very wrong. 

WHAM!  Bob collapsed like a ton of bricks...  out cold.  Craig was able to revive him enough to convince him to go inside the RV to lie down.  Bob couldn’t stand but wouldn’t let anyone help him along.  He negotiated the 10’ to the door before Craig got up to carry him in to the couch.  “Be right back.” 

Craig came back out and all he could say, over and over was “I’ll never leave him man... I never will.”  And I believe him.  Blown preconception #2 genius... as Craig turned out to be one of the most sincere and giving individual I have met in a long while as opposed to the beer swilling buffoon I assumed him to be.  “I have to go back in and check on him, see you later...  I’ll never leave him man.” 

It was late and I had planned on going out again that night to blow my $20 on frivolous fun but instead sat up in the Chumming Lounge, thinking about all that had occurred that day.  I woke up many times that evening because Loki had taken more than his fare share of the bed’s real estate and my legs were cramped and in serious pain each time I woke.  But I didn’t make Loki move or make more room for me.  Instead, I though about being in much greater pain than that 24/7 like Bob was and tried to get myself back to sleep. 

I got up before the sun and went outside.  I was leaving P-town and was going out to Race Point on the way to walk the beach and give Loki a morning swim in the ocean.  All that I could think of was being thankful for the fact that I wasn’t in the pain of last night, and that I could go out on the beach and take a walk with my dog. 

All was quiet around the campground and Bob and Craig’s curtains were drawn.  The last thing that Bob had said, looking at me through slits for eyes as Craig carried him into the RV the night before was a quiet, sincere, “I hope I make it through the night.”  As I drove out of my site and towards the beach for my walk, all I could think was “I hope he did too.” 
 

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