The phrase was once popular among people trying to dodge paying their debts. That isn’t something I’m trying to do.
I’ve lived my entire half century in Ohio, but it is pretty much played out for me. Time to head for new horizons.
I’m going to be driving down to Big Spring, a little town in the middle of a very big scrub desert. It is such a teensy place that they don’t even have a shooting range, the nearest being 45 miles away in Midland. There is, however, a whole lot of desert. I’m sure a cheap plastic bucket full of dirt placed at the base of a hill will suffice. If your shot goes home, a puff of dust emerges to let you know. Pour out the bucket and take it home to throw away after you run out of practice ammo.
Improvised targets aside, what is the appeal of a small town baking in the Texas heat? I’ve got a good friend there who says he will take me in until I find my feet. I took him in many years ago when it looked like he was going to end up on the street, and he says he is glad to return the favor. And so the worm turns.
I’m leaving tomorrow to make the long drive. 24 hours in the car with the dogs and all my worldly possessions. Unusual for someone of my age, I will admit, but somehow the unusual seems to follow me around.
Keep an eye out. I might be passing through your neck of the woods.