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Robert - of no fixed address
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We then chatted for a few minutes about what he was writing. He
was open enough to tell me that it was a poem for a friend. This
friend of his had asked him to write it for her birthday. " No
pressure," he said a couple of times, telling me that it was just
today that she had asked him if he would do this. We continued to
talk for a couple more minutes.
He continued writing, and I sipped on my coffee, while enjoying
the last bit of warm sun for the year. As you might guess, I enjoy
writing, so I was impressed that he was doing this. Creativity in
any form has begun to impress and influence me more over the
last 15 years or so.
As I leaned back in my chair, Robert, it turns out his name was,
asked me if I'd like to read something that he had written. I
guess he could tell that I was open to this, from my reaction to
the fact that he was writing a poem. The truth was that I had been
tempted to ask if I could read what he was writing, as it appeared
he may have been finished. It was a duotang-type folder that he
handed me. It was in perfect shape, which I thought was pretty
neat, considering what were probably his living conditions.
The story he had written was about his time on a fishing boat, off
the west coast of British Columbia. It detailed, in a humour-filled
way, a few days spent with the owner of the boat. At the end of the
nine pages, it turns out that he caught a full grown goat in his net.
It was a decent read, and showed that he was a good writer, and
could tell an interesting story.
By now, Robert had moved over to my table, and was sitting
across from me. We continued to chat for probably another 30-40
minutes. He told me a little about about how he had lost his job,