Down and Out in Missoula, MT.

I'm doing it.

I'm going to give all my worldly possessions away and go with the 'living on a street corner' plan. I'm going to get a scrappy looking labradoodle, which I will name 'Boris.' I will occasionally ramble on about my friends, an Irish tramp named Paddy and a pavement artist named Bozo, who are actually mosquitos. I will dread my hair, and start smoking found cigar butts, and wearing fedoras.I will build statues out my own excrement. I will purposely slur my speech and speak in broken French when dealing with The Law. I will get a detailed map of the alleys of Missoula tattooed on the insides of my thighs, so I will always be able to find a cozy dumpster to seek refuge from the elements in. I will steal a shopping cart and push around my blankets, all day, every day, and I will call the shopping cart 'Hotel X.' I will have a cast iron pan for no apparent reason, and will talk to myself about communism and socialism, and develop a twitch. I will tell every man I see that he reminds me of my brother Chad, and tell Jennys (Jennies?) about my 'salad days,' right before I ask for cigarettes and change and sandwiches. I will be that disguised-as-a-rock homeless person under the Higgins Bridge.



Or, I'll just go with my original plan of getting 'Life is Absurd' tattooed across my forehead.