This is Not, This is Not, This is Not Who I’m Supposed to Be
“Can you give me a ride to the Shell station?”
The groceries were in the front seat, I had just loaded them all up, this guy with a reddish beard and a limp approached me. I knew the Shell station, I pass it every day, it’s close to my house.
“Hold on, let me move these groceries,” I told him.
I wanted to be the type of person who gives homeless people rides, especially since my wife and my daughter were out of town and it was close.
I put the groceries in the backseat and he said something about my stomach; I thought he was calling me fat but then he said something about the bag in the backseat, a brown paper bag.
“Oh that’s wine,” I said and then he sat down in the front seat and I walked around to the driver’s seat.
“I’m Josh,” I said. “I’m Andy,” he said. He was holding a Diet Coke bottle and placed it in his lap.
I looked at his shirt and there was something sticking out, something round and I said “What’s that?” and he said, “That’s my stash,” oh, like his bottle.
That’s what he was referring to when he said something about my stomach, that he had a liquor bottle tucked in his…
