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This ain't nuthin', and a lot of it. 'Delete' keys at the ready...:
I was sitting in Thomas Knob S. one lonely November eve. I had just
watched the sun go down from the rock behind the shelter, and was
climbing to the loft. I heard the longest continuous string of profanity
ever laced together. About 10 seconds later, here 'it' came. He entered
the shelter pack-first, slamming stuff to the floor. I'll spare the
softer ears the full discourse of profanities which dotted his every
sentence, but I will say he was angered by something.
Yes, I was frightened. I said "You okay?"
"I'm standin' ain't I?" he grumbled.
"Barely" I said, because I'm a smart-ass and thats what a smart-ass would
say. I stand true to my colors.
He looked at me and winked. I don't know what the wink meant to him, but
to me it meant count your blessings and get your butt upstairs. I did. On
my way up I asked if he needed anything. He said nothing. I was glad.
I got into my sleeping bag, stomach tied like a lariat. I hoped he would
stay on the lower floor, but with the winds picking up, I didn't think he
would. I saw the light of flames dancing on the walls and began to relax
a little. He was cooking something with the aroma of a rubber-fire, and I
didn't want to know what it was. After an hour of clanking, cussing, and
cooking, he headed up the ladder. I tried not to look at him or his gear.
I couldn't help, no matter how I tried, but notice that his sleeping bag
was an old cotton, rectangle bag with the Double-Mint logo on it.
I was begging my smart-ass to stay down. And, for possibly the first time
ever, it did. He wrestled around a bit and finally crawled into his
gum-wrapper bag. I blew my candle out and laid back, staring out the
window. After about 15 minutes of psuedo-silence, I said "Where you
"Paris" he said, matter-of-factly. Well, now I know there are several
states with a Paris. I know there's a country with a Paris. Do I dare ask
It ain't much, but try http://members.tripod.com/~Felixhikes/index.html
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