I Think This Might Become A Hobby

A few weeks ago, after having a some drinks at a friend’s house, James was driving me home.  We entered my neighbourhood at about midnight and passed by a busier corner a few blocks from my house.  On the front yard of a house on this busier corner rested an abandoned chair; one that was free to whoever wanted it or it would go to the dump.  Well, I could not pass up this opportunity.  I asked James to stop and he helped me load it into my trunk. 

“Are you sure you want this?” He asked and I said “Yes, I’m Sure.”

It smelt a little like cigarettes but I planned on swapping the cushions off the wooden frame anyways.  James dropped me and my new prize off at my house and I brought it right down into my basement.  I couldn't let my parents see it cause they wouldn't be happy I was bringing garbage in off the street, even if it was for my basement TV room.  A few weeks past with it in my hiding spot. I kind of forgot about it and my parents never saw it.  I certainly never got any new cushions for it.  It was getting nearer the end of the summer and I knew I couldn't have my parents find it while I was off at school, so I had to change plans.  I got a closer look at the chair in some better lighting and it wasn't that nice:  a bulky, wooden rocker with springs under the butt and two arm rests.  It wasn't the lounger style I was hoping for.  I loaded the beast in the trunk of my minivan while my parents were elsewhere and kept it there as I went about my day, hoping I would be out late that night. Sure enough, that same day, I was driving home from a friends house at about one in the morning. I whipped up to the house on the busier corner and dropped the chair off right where I grabbed it. 

I would love to have heard the conversation that occurred the following morning.


You're welcome,

B.F Greenough, aka,
Chief Hanky, Take-A-Chair-Leave-A-Chair

I Deserve Ten Bucks After That

Good day.  It has been a while and I can't properly excuse my absence so I'll just jump into a story:

A couple of years ago I was biking downtown to meet a girl at our city's most famous landmark.  Well that's where I thought we were meeting because of the text that said: "that place we went that one time down by the water."  But we were thinking of two different places. (We weren't on the same page. It didn't work out with this particular girl.)

Anyways, I was biking into the parking lot on the busy summer evening.  I remember the boardwalk and bike paths were bustling.  As I coasted through the parking lot, I made eye contact with two men that lasted just longer than it should have. On their faces I saw expressions of recognition with a touch of anger. I almost didn't think anything of it, except for feeling that the visual exchange happened in slow motion and was just long enough to warrant a minute amount of fear. I starred at the two loose clothed, buzzed headed, and sketchy men until a car came between us, breaking the gaze.  I hopped off my bike as I glided onto the boardwalk at the edge of the parking lot.  I was about to search for the girl when, as I looked back to the parking lot, one of the men had picked up a slow run towards me. He was the younger of the two by about ten years, probably around thirty. He was yelling "Hey! Hey!" and looking at me in the passing crowds.  I contemplated running out of instinct, but the boardwalk was too busy.  The man stopped about five meters short of me, and I had put a short fence between us.
He asked "What's your name?"
I replied "Ben."
Pointing to the older man he back by the cars, the younger says "He says you owe him money."
"I've never seen him before." I said.  I'm sure it was through a shutter.
Then he tells me to wait there as he goes to confer with the older drug dealer about who I am. I hear them say my name, and then they both come towards me this time. The older, taller man with fewer teeth says:
"Are you sure you're not Cody?"
"No, I'm Ben" I repeated.
"I'm sorry, you look just like a kid who owes me ten bucks."
I breathed a sigh of relief as they backed up and the younger kept apologizing over and over.
Too late, I thought, already shit myself.
I looked around for the girl to no avail, and just before I was about to ride home, the younger yelled from their new spot, sitting down: "Sorry again, Ben."
I responded with a half-wave of dismissal and rode home to one of the weirdest dates of my life; but that's a story for another time.

You're welcome,

B.F. Greenough, aka,
Chief Hanky, The Drug Dodger