The first person I stumbled upon was Jerry. I was going to make a left at the light, until I noticed his red jump suit off in the side of the road. My destination didn't appeal to me at the time so I decided to take a detour. Jerry was clearly still drunk on this Saturday morning. I myself had a mild hangover which made for an easy conversation. His destination was a few miles down the road and before long I was watching him stumble out of my Jeep and stagger his way to a home which may have contributed to his late night of drinking.
The next was a change of pace. I found Rich walking through the modest "yooper" downtown. His hands were grasping bags which were clearly heavy enough, without the added trouble of a bum knee. There was little parking in the area so I had to loop around for another approach. Thrilled by the offer, Rich quipped that I had read his mind. He was a journalist, writting for one of the local news papers, most often focusing on his addiction of riding buses. He needed a lift to the radio station up one of the many hills of Keweenaw Country. As he exited the vehicle, he handed me an autographed copy the previous months issue, where he discussed his joyful trips on the trusted Grayhound bus line, who's services have recently been replaced by the Indian Trails company.
Third was a female in her twenties who's name has escaped me. I passed her walking during a thunderstorm, again having to loop around to make the attack. My sister was in the vehicle and made the offer this time, which once again was eagerly accepted. This soul was returning home after getting seperated from her friends at the festival which took place the night before. A string of fights led her to flee the celebrations, leading her to bed at the floor of a parking deck. Rudely awoken by thunder and rain, she began her walk home. As we neared her apartment building she realized just how far she still had to go when she was picked up. My thoughts were entertained by the proximity of her apartment building to Jerry's home.
This brings me to today. I began my journey from Houghton, MI to the suburbs of Detroit a tad bit later than I had planned, but I was in no hurry. Music blasting and windows down, the air rushed at my grinning face. The thermometer resting comfortably in the upper fifties, the sky was clear and air fresh. I eyed folks walking their dogs and carrying groceries, considering the fact that I have had no hitch hiker encounters in the past few weeks. The thought tickled me a little as I promised myself to pick up the next person that seemed in need of a ride. I didn't have to wait long.
Bill was a hippy, self proclaimed. Tie-dye tee, completed by long facial hair and a rolled up ski mask. The elderly man seemed almost as though he had fallen asleep while standing, which a thumb perched out at his side. He walked up to the Jeep as fast as he could and searched for space to fit his backpack. I quickly shuffled the contents of my back seat allowing him to toss his bag in and ride shotgun. Marquette, about an hour drive in the direction I was heading. From there he said he would work his way down to highway 2. His goal was to eventually reach South Carolina, where he would stay with his sister and try to find some work, at which point I mentioned I could take him as far as Detroit. Bill perferred to stay off of the major express ways, and in general avoid Detroit. Apparently hitch hiking along the express way is not the easiest, especially with the legalities of traveling the shoulder on foot. However hearing that I'm going in his direction, he accepted a ride down to Indian River.Our conversation spanned from politics, to art, to the life of a hitch hiker. Apparently Bill was previously picked up by a gentleman who checked him into a hotel room for a night and left him with forty dollars. "No one goes hungry in my city." the man told him. Bill later discovered the fella to be a state's man. Five hours and a pit stop later we found ourselves near the bridge. Feeling a bit hungry myself, I pulled over at a diner and offered the man a meal. Eggs, sunny side up with toast, hashbrowns and a slice of ham. The yolk was for dipping toast, yet when they arrived there was no runny yolk. The waitress soon realized the mistake, and while Bill assured her that it was okay, she returned with an extra set of eggs, runny yolk and all. "That waitress was pretty cool, she didn't have to do that." After dinner, it was only another few miles to his destination, and before long it was time to part ways. I handed him the left over change from my pocket, jokingly saying "No one goes hungry in my state." Greatful, he remembered his promise to share a couple of his poems with me, and allowing me to take a picture for my records. Bill lasted me over half of what ended up being a nine hour drive to Detroit, leaving my mind with no recollection of boredom and me smiling for the rest of the lonesome trip.
-Untitled-
by Bill
Living in a world of destruction and hate
all you want to do is legislate.
You think you can cure society's ills
just by passing a few more bills.
Child in the street, his blood is spilling.
Life in this world is bone-chilling.
"Oh no, the children are dying!"
Bombs exploding, bodies fly,
sensless fighting, children die.
Lots of pollution, dirty air.
Your world is dying and you don't even care.
Child in the gutter, nothing to eat.
300-dollar shoes upon my feet.
Take a look around you, tell me what you see.
Is this what you want your world to be?
"Oh no, the children are dying!"
Battle and clashes in the night,
eple fighting, black and white.
Don't you know it's really insane
always playing this racist game.
"Oh no, the children are dying!"
IS THIS WHAT YOU WANT
YOUR WORLD TO BE?
-Untitled-
by Bill
One word I hate is the word "dead."
When it is uttered, so much is said.
It reminds me of bodies covered with mud
alone in the field devoid of blood.
It reminds me of children once happy and gay
dead in the street, just blown away.
It reminds me of soldiers killed in all wars
doing the bidding of political whores.
It reminds me these things need not to be.
But we're so blind and foolish we can't even see.
