The first Peanuts
television special, A Charlie Brown
Christmas, had been on TV the previous Christmas and that made me even more
of a fan of the strip. I couldn’t get enough of Charlie Brown and company.
My phone rang fairly late one evening
during the summer of 2000. I was in bed, but my son was still up. On the
phone was a nurse from the nursing home in Vevay, Indiana. My mother
was staying there recuperating from knee surgery — her left knee. She
had her right one replaced a year earlier.
September 22, 2013, around seven o’clock in the morning, I smoked my last Pall
Mall cigarette. It was the last one in my pack and the last one I ever intended
to inhale and exhale. I was going to give up tobacco for good.
Walking home, I remembered being in a decent mood before I
entered the store and now I felt pissed off. I’m in that damn Walgreens
at least three times a week spending plenty of money. Why the hell
would a cashier try to squeeze a little bit more out of me? And what
business is it of hers if I want to drink Diet Coke? If I wanted to
drink a gallon of Tide detergent, that’s my business and not hers.
As luck would have it, or maybe it wasn’t luck at all,
right across the street from the office was a bar called “Chuck’s
Rockin’ Ranch.” But I never went to Chuck’s or drank on Thursdays. That was Seinfeld night. I didn’t want my head to be all fuzzy watching that show. It was always the highlight of my lonesome week.
All of these women have
different stories to tell and each are selling their bodies for their
own personal reasons. I could simplify those reasons and say it’s all
about money to get drugs, but that would be too easy and would only be
scratching the surface.