a long-long time ago in what seems to be another lifetime i knew this guy named Dewey. i don’t think it was his real name but that’s what everyone called him.
he balded early in life and had this old-timer Popeye look about him. he smoked a pipe several times a day and sort of had the same vocabulary as the stocky cartoon sailor.
its not like he had big bulging muscles, did any super-guy deeds and i don’t remember any tattoos or any lanky female companions (because he greatly favoured them overly-obese) but, he lived in a shack-type house near a port and that was enough for me to make the connection.
when you walked into his house you could smell all sorts of things and even if most of those where quite unpleasant, an overly eager imaginative mind could trick itself into believing they where smells from far away places brought back in moldy wooden crates in the bottom of the hold. one of his musty possessions was a wooden canoe but just like its owner, had never seen water, much less the open sea.
one never knows what life brings but something tells me i’ll never see Dewey again and that’s ok. people are just like water, they come and go, they either land somewhere or flow from one area to another and eventually and inextricably evaporate into thin air, and the cycle continues.