I’ve lost my home of 20 years

It started out as a box.

The former tenant, a dishwasher, had vacated, and I moved in.

This was in the trash-bestrewn lot behind Moe’s Used Appliances. I was living in a canvas pup-tent bag at the time. To reside in an actual box was heaven, plus I had the lot to myself, not counting the vermin.

Later, I stole tape to add to the box a large carton emptied of its frozen turkeys. I’m not proud of that crime. Later I replaced the tape with staples. This didn’t absolve me of the original theft, but I felt better not staring at the tape all the time. I stole a stapler to do this.

By the time the rains and then the snow came, I had my home waterproofed with a tarp I borrowed.  Time passed in a blur. It’s like that when you get situated securely in life, right? Your kids, or in my case, rats, are born. They grow up and leave home. You put in your time as a member of society, in my case begging in front of the butcher shop. Next thing you know, you’re older.

I’m not as sharp as I was but I’m still game. I took a wrong turn somewhere but I’ll figure it out. The town has grown but it’s still my town. My home is out there somewhere. If I keep looking, I’ll find it.

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