this morning i got the weedeater busy and cut back the thick crop of grasses surrounding my home. rain and sunshine'll do it to this yard, evertime. the plants were so moist, i got my pantlegs splattered green, and decided to hose off my boots.
while i was doing this, i thought of someone: "the canman," otherwise known as Don.
you see, about a week or two ago, he came up and rung my doorbell and when i opened the door to talk to him, he rummaged out of a blackish garbage bag an unopened bottle of wine with a cork in place...he pointed at the cork and mumbled askance...his voice, or throat, was damaged....he couldn't really talk.
he's been stopping by for our recyclables for a couple years...we leave our bottles in a crate for him to gather. in the winter, we pass along clothes, food, spare change, and invite him in and inquire about what's new with him. he has several cats, and a nice tent, he says.
he usually says. this day, he just wanted to get into that bottle, even though he was ailing. i gave him a spare corkscrew, and he went on his way. i haven't seen him since. i added to our recycling stash and noticed that last weeks stuff was still there. now i wonder...did that old vinegared wine do our roveing canman in?
i really hope not. he seemed to be a decent man, getting by, and enjoying a few of life's offerings,
minding his own business of gleaning along the streets of this small northwestern town. the world is full of characters, and this guy is a few of them, wrapped now into one.
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