The Man From Costa Rica

                It was the summer of lost love and missed opportunities.  The summer of lessons learned and many forgotten.  I made many poor decisions in that three month span.  One of which landed me in county jail for about forty-three days, which is another story for another time, and I am sure that it is far more interesting than this one.   It wasn’t that one or the final decisions I made that brought an end to a seemingly wonderful, wonderful from where I was sitting anyhow, two year relationship.  The decision I will tell you about now was one made due to fear.  Fear of change.  Fear of insecurity.  Fear of the unknown.  What made this one stick out in my mind versus the others that had a far more profound impact on my life and my direction in it however was not the decision itself.  It was the man who gave me a choice.

                That summer I worked as a cashier on the graveyard shift at a local convenient store.  A friend and I always had a running joke about how it reminded us of the Kevin Smith movie "Clerks".   Although I never had to deal with milk maids or Chewlies' Gum representatives trying to incite a riot, I did meet some interesting characters.  Most of these characters where the run of the mill crack-heads trying to buy some Chore-Boy or a straight pipe.  Unlike a lot of the stores around our area, which had been bought up by Asians or Indians, we did not sell any kind of drug paraphernalia.  I must say though it was rather entertaining to try and decipher what they were saying.  I always let them rumble on knowing that I could not provide them with what they needed, but it was entertaining to hear them slur on in explanation.  My friend and I would burst out in laughter after they had left in disappointment.

                We were also the largest lotto retailer in the state of Texas.  Being on the border of Arkansas, and them not having a lottery of their own at the time, we would be flooded with people from all over the natural state.  When I was training on the swing shift, before I was left to run the store all alone, I often had to shut down my register to accommodate a man who worked in a factory in Little Rock.  He and a bunch of co-workers would pool their money together and he would make the drive down to our store and purchase tickets for the whole lot of them.  He would buy anywhere from two to three thousand dollars’ worth of tickets at one time.  This would usually take hours and would often become a bit monotonous.  Aside from the redundancy, I enjoyed it because we would get kickbacks from the lottery commission if we sold a winning ticket and I always anticipated one of those tickets hitting it big.  I mean the odds had to be pretty good at that amount.  Of course that never happened.  Also I had the added extra of having my till tied up and not having to deal with any other customers for that period of time.

                The friend I referred to earlier, Dave, would always come and just hang out.  We had a rotating hot dog cooker that I had to refresh every four hours.  Not many people would come in at midnight or later requesting a convenient store hot dog, so instead of just trashing them I would give Dave his fill.  Being a good 350 pounds he usually ate them all and kept me from having to throw anything away.  I saw it as a positive solution to wasting food.  Even though it cost me nothing either way I just felt better about feeding a friend.  On the weekends I did have one customer that would come in pretty late and I would save the discarded hotdogs from earlier and he would pick them up to treat his two dogs.  He was a local driver's education teacher and would often come in and buy a few lotto tickets.  After playing for a bit he would often just hand the winners over to me and say, "Treat yourself to a coke or something."  He never won anything more than a couple bucks, but his generosity awed me.

               Other than the encounters with the aforementioned characters, Dave and I just kicked it on the slow nights.  A few times I had even got brave and let him swipe a little gas and I would just write it up as a drive off.  This kept him from paying the outrageous price and if he only got a little it kept me from having to explain too much.  We were allotted something like twenty-five dollars a night in drive-offs, so I let him take advantage on occasions.  I would also take a few things myself, here and there, whenever I felt hungry or thirsty.  Nothing big, I would grab a coke or a candy bar and kick back in the manager's office where there were no cameras.  The job had its perks, but most of the time I fell idle and alone.  I did a lot of reading and a little bit of writing and drawing that summer.

                What I remember the most though was one man.  One morning around three-thirty or four o'clock this strange old man kind of limped into the store and sought refuge against the counter.  I greeted him and asked how he was doing.  He reciprocated and said that he was just exhausted from the road and needed a cup of coffee.  This happened all the time, being one of the only twenty-four hour convenient stores in that area along the interstate.  I obliged the weary traveler and helped him to his cup of coffee.  He paid for it calmly and resumed his position against the far side of the counter.

                "Where are you coming from?"  I asked trying to make idle conversation.

                "Well I started out in Costa Rica.  Been driving for a few days.  Trying to take it slow.  Can't drive all night like I used to could."

                "I understand that."  I haven't ever been too much on small talk and didn't really have much else to say after that.

                "How long you been working here?" he asked taking the lead.

                "Just like a month.  Not that long."

                "You enjoy it?"

                "Yeah.  It's pretty laid back.  Don't really do much after twelve or one.  Sometimes it stays steady throughout the night but not that often.  It usually drops off around midnight and picks back up around four when everyone is trying to get to work.  They come in and get the usual, coffee, cigarettes, newspapers, you know stuff like that."

                "What do you do in your down time?" he inquired as he slowly sipped his hot coffee.

                "I got some daily chores to do, cleaning this and that.  You know.  A lot of the time I just kick back and read."

                "You read a lot?"  Man this guy has a lot of questions I thought, but I politely continued to answer them.

                "Yeah I try to."

                "What are you reading tonight?"  I reached behind me and grabbed the paper back that was lying un-open on the counter.

                "'Danse Macabre' by Stephen King.  It's kind of a history of horror stories, books, and movies up to the eighties."

                "You like it?"

                "Yeah.  Learn a lot.  It's pretty interesting."  I said as I tossed the book back behind me.  He took another slow sip from his coffee and turned to face the coolers in the rear.  At this time another customer came through the door and stepped up to my counter.

                "Well I will get out of your hair." the old traveler stated as he straightened himself and walked towards the door.

                "OK then sir.  You have a safe trip."  I said and turned to greet the other customer.  With the generic greeting out of the way I quickly retrieved the brand of cigarettes from the rack behind me, per his request.  He paid and hurriedly shuffled out the door.  I glanced around to make sure the store was in decent shape and decided to go smoke.  I stepped outside and noticed the aged, beat up Chevy S-10, with a camper shell over the bed, sitting along the side of the building.  I walked up a little to take notice of who was lingering inside.  I saw the old excursionist sitting down in the front seat with his legs stretched out.  I returned to my post against the side of the building and continued to smoke my cigarette.  Maybe he just needs some more time to stretch his weary legs I thought.  Suddenly out of nowhere I heard his strained voice call to me from the truck.

                "Come here son.  I wanna show you something."  I walked cautiously over to the open door, not knowing exactly what to expect.  I wasn't too concerned seeing as how he was at least sixty and I was barely twenty-two, but you never know.  Sometimes those old timers will surprise you.  I approached the open door and peered into the dark cab as he fumbled with something small in his shaky hands.  He stepped out of the truck and opened his palm out towards me.  In it was a small bar of what appeared to be silver.

                "Go ahead.  Take it." he said as he extended his arm out further in my direction.  I pinched it out of his hands with my finger tips and placed it in my own palm.  I studied the small bar with the utmost curiosity.  According to the stamp on, what I conceived as, the front it was definitely silver.  The tiny rectangle was rather heavy for its size.  The imprint on the top front of the bar stated .999 silver.  Below that was a picture of an old steam engine.

                "You like that?"  The weary wanderer inquired as I entertained myself with the block in the center of my palm.

                "Oh yeah.  Where did you get this?"

                "That come from Costa Rica." he spoke as he sat back down on the bench seat of the truck.  He searched around in the seat beside him and came up with a pocket flashlight.  He reached over the passenger side and opened the glove box and shone the light inside.  "Look.  I got plenty."  I gazed into the compartment and saw at least ten if not more of the same little bars carelessly tossed within.

                "Man, you get all those down there in Costa Rica?"  I asked with pure amazement in my voice.  I had never seen a bit of pure silver, much less that amount.  What could they have been worth I pondered voicelessly.

                "Yep.  I just been kinda collecting them." 

                "That is awesome.  You're kinda brave keeping them on you like that.  They've got to be worth quite a bit."

                "Well it helps to have things like this when you're a lone white guy traveling down to Costa Rica.  The police are always trying to shake you down and I have learned that those go a lot further than cash money.  If you don't bribe them or give ‘em what they want they got no problem hauling your ass to jail.  I would much rather toss these things to ‘em then chance any amount of time in a Mexican jail."

                "That's crazy."  I said this in pure amazement.  I, never having been out of the states before, was becoming more and more interested in this stranger.

                "You can keep that one.  I have plenty as you can see, and I can always get more."

                "I couldn't sir.  That is just way to generous."  I protested even though I secretly wanted to have it for myself.

                "Nah.  You just take it son.  Like I said I got plenty more."

                "Thank you sir.  That is to kind."  I voiced with no other protest.  The generous road veteran wasn't going to have to twist my arm to get me to accept a bar of pure silver.  I gladly took it off his hands.  "Well I have to get back inside."  I told him as I thumped my cigarette out across the parking lot.

                "Would you mind if I got another cup of coffee from you?"

                "Hell no.  That's the least I could do for you.  Come on in."  We walked to the door together and I gratefully opened it and allowed him to enter first.  He made his way to the coffee urn and I made mine back to my spot behind the counter.  After getting his coffee he came back and leaned on the counter in his previous spot and we drummed up another bit of small talk.  In the time that we chatted no other customers came in to interrupt us.  I looked at the clock on my cash register monitor and noticed that it was pushing five.  "I'm gonna step out here and smoke another cigarette then I've got to start cleaning up.  Care to join me?"  I politely asked as I came out from behind the counter.

                "Sure.  You got one to spare?"

                "Oh yeah.  Most definitely."  In our short time together I had found the man superbly charming and could not deny him anything.  We stepped outside and I handed him a cigarette out of my pack and retrieved one for myself.  I gave him the lighter first and lit mine when he handed it back.  We stood there in silence for the first time since he had come in.  I dragged deeply on my smoke as he held his letting most of it just burn away.  I noticed but didn't mind at all.  I would have gladly given him the whole pack just to stomp on if he had seen fit to do so.  After a few minutes of silence he was again the first to speak up.

                "What time do you get off?"

                "Six."    

                "What do you usually do when you leave?"        

                "Man I usually go and grab a bite at McDonald's and head home."

                "Fuck McDonald's!"  He blurted with a rather strong emphasize.  It was surprising.  I'm always taken aback when I hear a senior say fuck.  "Let's go eat somewhere real."  I was shocked again by the sudden invitation or the thought that he had invited himself along with me, whatever the case may have been, but the feeling was fleeting in remembrance with how generous he had been and interesting he was.

                "What have you got in mind?"  

                "You guys got an IHOP around here?"

                "Yeah.  Not too far away as a matter of fact.  Is that where you would prefer to go?"

                "I would prefer to go just about anywhere besides fucking McDonald's."  I laughed at the sincere hatred for the aforementioned fast food joint in his voice.  He really loathed McDonald's and wasn't in the business of keeping it a secret.

                "IHOP is fine by me.  You can just follow me there when I get off if you want.  I've still got an hour though if you don't mind waiting around."  I didn't figure he did since he had already spent over an hour with me as it was.

                "I don't mind.  Ain't got nothing else to do.  What are you driving?  I don't see any other vehicles out here."  He said as he glanced curiously around the parking lot.

                "I've got an electric scooter I got put up in the back room."

                "Hmm.  Does it run worth a shit?"

                "Yeah it does alright I guess.  Gets me from here to there.  Nothing fancy but it does the trick."  I tossed my smoke out.  "I've got to get back in and try and get some chores done before the boss lady shows up."

                "Alright.  I will be out here waiting on you, okay."

                "Okay, that's cool."  I walked back through the door and went up to the counter to grab my duties list off the clipboard next to the monitor.  I had pissed away the night with the old man and hadn't even begun my chores.  Oh well I thought.  They don't all have to get done.  They rarely did any other night.  I started with the hotdogs I had neglected most of the night.  I tossed the old rubbery ones in the trash bin next to the grill and retrieved some fresh ones out of the cooler.  After piling them on the rotating grill and logging how many I had set out I cleaned the grill and coffee area.  A few customers started drifting in and I returned to my station behind the counter.  I routinely checked them out making small talk with each one as I did so.  When the store was cleared again I grabbed some trash bags from the back store room and went outside to take up all the full garbage bins.  I smoked while I performed this chore and noticed the aged gent sitting in his truck reading a newspaper.  He looked up for a second taking notice of what I was doing and then returned to whatever story had caught his attention.  I finished gathering the trash and replacing the old liners with new ones and carried the load to the dumpster.  I quickly returned to the store noticing a few more customers pulling in the parking lot.  It hadn't been near as busy as usual that morning but I was content because bullshitting with the man had bought a lot of my down time.  I once again returned to my station deciding that I would remain there until my shift was up.  I had done the most major things that needed to be done and if any questions were asked I would simply say that I was entertaining a customer.  I ran through the short line of customers with speed and accuracy and again was left alone to my own thoughts.  I glanced down at the monitor and noticed that it was fifteen till six.

                I relaxed against the front of the cigarette shelves and patiently waited for the last few minutes to pass by.  I noticed Miss Debbie's, the manager, beat up Chrysler van pull in to the lot and I straightened up behind my register.  She waddled in through the door a few moments later carrying her usual bag, notebook, and an extra one hundred and fifty pounds.  I greeted her and she reciprocated.  She waddled on back to the manager's office to lay her things down, everything except the extra weight.  She returned a few short seconds later and asked me how everything had gone.  I went through the usual spiel and told her everything had run like a well-oiled machine, as per usual with me at the helm.  She told me to go ahead and start doing my close out procedures.  Nancy, my replacement, was running a little late but Debbie was going to get in the system and run it till she arrived.  I did my usual things, counting cigarettes and lottery tickets.  Lastly I closed my till out after she had opened the one next to me.  I did my count and came out right on the money.  I filled out the necessary paperwork and took my money bag to the office and placed it in the safe.  I returned to the front and began to gather my things.  We made chit chat and I told her I was gone.  She said farewell as did I and I went to wrestle my scooter from the rear storage room.  I made it out of the door with the hunk of molded plastic and strolled up to where the guy was sitting in his truck.

                "You ready?" he asked as I approached.

                "Whenever you are."

                "Am I just gonna follow you?"

                "That would probably be the easiest."

                "You don't wanna just throw that thing in the back and ride with me.?"

                I glanced across him into the cluttered passenger side of the compact pick-up truck.  "No I'll just ride.  I enjoy riding this little thing."

                "Alright if that's what you wanna do.  Let's go.  You lead the way."  I hopped on my pocket sized scooter and started the little electric engine.  I pulled up to the edge of the road and he slowly came in behind me.  I watched for an opening in traffic and jetted out across the four lanes when I saw my chance.  The guy hesitated a bit longer but was right behind me soon enough.  We made the brief trek over the interstate and down the service road leading to the IHOP, next to the Greyhound bus station.  I parked my scooter on the sidewalk and chained it to a "No Parking" sign close to the front door.  He swung in behind me and guided his pick-up in a vacant spot.  I waited for him at the door as he gathered whatever things he needed.  We entered the restaurant and dually headed for the rear smoking section.  We caught a table for four empty and placed our tired selves in the vacant seats.  We both lit cigarettes and began to chat.  An older waitress appeared at our left and we both ordered coffee for the time being.  I was hungry but was in no real hurry.  Knowing the man must have more interesting stories I was just unaware of how to coax them from him.  Suddenly it was like he had read my mind.

                "Have you ever been to Costa Rica?"  He asked as he lightly inhaled the smoke from his cigarette.

                "No sir.  I have never even been out of the states.  Haven't visited many of those either, to tell you the truth."

                "That's a shame.  Me and my brother own a coffee plantation in Costa Rica.  It's actually pretty neat.  Real laid back.  It's hard work though and pretty fucking hot."  I knew it.  I just knew this guy was going to have some interesting things to talk about.  I mean anyone that travels with small bars of silver just floating around in his glove box to pay off crooked cops on journeys through Central America would have to have stories.  The waitress returned with our coffee.  I poured a few packets of sugar in my cup and mixed it with a stirrer next to the packets of sugar and artificial sweetener.  "Yeah we went in on it together in the early eighties and just been doing it ever since.  My family still lives here in the states so I come back at least twice a year and see how it's going."

                "That must be awesome.  I have always wanted to travel, I just have never been real good with money and can't seem to stay away from this town any more than a year.  I have moved away twice and find myself always coming back for reasons I am not quite sure of."

                "I enjoy it.  I just like having the freedom to work for myself.  Make my own hours, you know what I mean?"

                "Oh yeah."

                 "We've got a few hands that help us during harvest time.  We've got another house that they live in, a few months out of the year.  Pretty good guys.  Mostly natives and their sons.  I have got three guys that have been with me since I bought the place.  They always come around when they know it’s time to harvest.  Bring their families and shack up in the house.  We feed them good and raise a bunch of hell at night.  Just have a good time."

                "Man I could imagine."  I was too interested in his story and felt like a jack ass for not having an intelligent rebuttal for anything that he was saying.  All I could do was shake my head favorably and add stupid shit like "I bet." or "Oh yeah."  I felt like a total retard.  He did not seem to mind at all though which helped me rest a little easier.  A lull had come over and both of us just sat there smoking and looking into the black abyss that was our coffee.

                After I dragged deep from my smoke I looked up to make sure that I was aiming at the ashtray as I thumbed my ashes and noticed the most peculiar thing that I believe I have ever seen.  Instead of him thumping his ashes into the tray, he thumped them into his coffee mug as though that was the common thing to do.  I watched as the heavier of the ashes first settled on top of the blackness and then slowly dissolved deeper into the dark.  He dipped his forefinger into the torrid coffee and gingerly stirred what ashes remained at the top in with the rest of the mixture.  Not wanting to seem off put by this I quickly raised my head and presented a bit of my curiosity of this unique man's lifestyle.

                "You said back at the store you often use that silver to pay off crooked cops around there.  What's that shit about?  I mean I've heard a bit about shit like that like in Mexico but never really thought that much about it."

                "Yeah a lot of the time when a white guy or anyone that isn't native to those parts, no matter how long they have lived there, is passing through they often get taken by the local authorities.  Just stupid shit like passing road blocks that they just set up or they will just pull you over for no reason at all just to see if you will pay them off or argue with them.  No real sense of justice or right and wrong in that sense.  And trust me you don't want to tangle with them if you are alone, hundreds of miles away from anyone else.  They got the power and the guns.  You are in their home and they think you owe them something just for traversing it."  He said as he thumbed his ashes, once again, into the coffee mug, this time following it up by putting the cherry down in the liquid, extinguishing the small ember.  He tossed the wet butt into the ashtray, swirled his drink and took a long swill from the weird mixture.  I wondered to myself how in the world someone could stand the taste of ashy coffee.  I was sure he had probably been doing this for as long as I had been alive.

 

                 The fifty-plus waitress returned to the table asking us if we were ready to order or if we needed more time.  I kept quite allowing my breakfast partner to take the lead.  He drank down a generous gulp of coffee and ordered more.  I motioned to my cup letting her know that I would like a refresher myself.  The old timer glanced down at the menu, for what appeared to me, for the first time since we had sat down.  He didn't look longer than three seconds and immediately came up ordering steak and eggs with the eggs cooked over-easy and hash browns.  This sounding pretty delightful, I ordered the same telling the waitress that I wanted my steak cooked well-done.  She scribbled our order down on her little pad and placed it in the front pocket of her apron.  She feebly stretched her somewhat sagging arms out and took the menus from the table.

                With fresh cups of coffee, we both lit a cigarette simultaneously.  Without letting the conversation lack he immediately picked up where he had left off.

                "Yeah one time I was driving back from the states and decided it might be a good idea to pull off the lonesome highway and try and catch up on some sleep.  There are also a lot of bandits out there that will try and take you for all you got.  I pulled quite a ways off the highway and pulled out my little .38 to keep beside me.  You got to watch out for those fuckers.  It's not always the case but I always try and be prepared."  He said as he repeated his odd little ritual with the coffee and cigarette.  I nodded along blowing on my own cup.  "I couldn't have been asleep more than two hours when I heard someone knocking on my window.  It startled me awake and I immediately grabbed for my pistol and slid it up under my leg.  I looked out my window and noticed that it was a police officer, or what scum passes for police down there.  I rolled my window down a bit and he started in on the questions.  'Why had I parked here?'  'What gave me the right to sleep along his highway?'  'Why was I so far off the road?'  You know that sort of thing.  Without even contemplating I just reached in my wallet and pulled out forty bucks.  I slid it to him through the crack in the glass and his whole attitude changed just that quick."  He snapped his fingers to emphasize the speed in which this had happened.  "And that was that.  He said thanks and told me to be careful.  He warned me off all the crooks out here like he wasn't one himself.  I just straightened up, cranked up the old truck and hit the road again.  Shit like that happens all the time."

                "Man that shit's rough."  I responded totally engrossed in his tale.  "The whole place seems a bit out of it.  A bit third world."

                "Well it pretty much is.  I mean kid, I don't have a lot of money but me and my brother are considered rich down there.  Like what you would consider millionaires and I ain't got close to a million dollars.  I am sure I have had that much pass through my hands but it all comes and goes."

                "Sounds pretty exciting though."

                "Yeah it is, you just got to know what you are doing.  Be careful you know."

                "Yeah."  I was so frustrated with my generic replies but I really had nothing to add.  I slumped in my chair a bit, noticeably feeling inferior.  This was an old timer that had lived and here I was, barely twenty-two and hadn't done shit with anything.  I got caught up on my self-pity for a minute trying to realize where the time had gone and just what I have done to try and make anything of myself.  The last four years I had indulged in an almost endless amount of drugs and alcohol.  I lost what I thought was the love of my life just a few short weeks prior and was working as a fucking gas station attendant.  Just thinking about the lousy job I had done living my life to the fullest made my stomach turn.  Once again it was like the old man had read my mind.

                "You know I'm always looking for good hands.  I mean its hard work but I got a place you can stay and plenty of food for you till you get on your feet down there.  It really is a lovely country and it would definitely give you some of that life experience.  And I'm not saying that if you come down there with me you have to oblige me by working at the plantation any longer than you would want to.  You know something to get you started and maybe you could find something else you liked.  I don't know.  Something to think on."

                "I don't know man.  That would be a big change.  A huge change.  I'm on probation.  Not even sure I would be able to get out of the country without getting into trouble, and getting you in trouble.  I would hate for some of my misdoings to get you in a bind.  It's a tempting offer.  Very tempting offer I just don't think I could do that."  Here I was no more than two minutes ago beating myself up for never having done anything and here was this man offering to take me with him to fucking Costa Rica and I found the quickest way to say no.  It never entered my mind that this man could be a rapist or a murderer.  That he could be looking for some young kid to make his sex slave or something, the moment we got to his alleged farm house.  It wasn't any of that that would probably scare off the average person.  I was simply terrified of change, terrified of being away from my so-called home.

                The hoary waitress then returned to our table with our orders.  I was somewhat relieved that receiving our food put a halt on the talking for a few minutes at least.  I felt totally ashamed for turning this generous stranger down for what could have been the most exciting venture of my life.  She dished out the platters and we sat quietly and ate.  The food provided the break that I was looking for.  Nothing at all was said until we had both finished our meals.  He grumbled about the quality as we habitually lit our cigarettes.  I commented that mine was pretty good.  I wasn't sure if I had upset him by declining his invitation, but the conversation definitely seemed to suffer afterwards.

                Our server returned to our table one last time handing us our check.  She had put it all on the same tab.  I reached for my wallet to pay for my share of the meal.  He calmly said that he would take care of it.  His generosity amazed me yet again.  We both finished our smokes and stood up in front of our chairs.  We slowly gathered our belongings and made our way to the teller at the front of the building.  He stepped up to the register and paid the tab as I fumbled with the toothpick dispenser.  He returned his wallet to his rear pocket, thanked the teller and headed for the door.  I followed him out to the parking lot and to the sign I had chained my scooter to.

                "Thank you sir for all your generosity this morning.  I really do appreciate it.  Much more than I know how to show you."  I stated in true sincerity as I un-clasped the lock fastening the bike to the chain.

                "No problem son.  It's nice to eat with someone other than yourself for a change."

                "Yeah that lonely travel has got to be a bitch a lot of the times."

                "Yeah it can get to a person.  Anyway kid I enjoyed the company.  I need to get back on the road.  Going to try and make it to Little Rock before I have to pull over and sleep."

                "Okay sir.  Once again I appreciate everything, the silver, the breakfast and the conversation.  You're a hell of an interesting character I must say.  You be careful sir and maybe one day we can do this again.  Maybe on your way back you can stop in and I will buy you breakfast."

                "Sounds like a deal kid.  You be careful on that thing.  It was nice meeting you."

                "You too sir.  Really nice."  And with that he turned and headed towards his truck.  I straddled the little scooter and plugged my key into the ignition.  I sat for a minute pondering again what kind of opportunity I could be passing up.  I watched as he slowly backed out of the parking space, pulled out of the drive and eased the old beat up truck onto the service road.  Just like that the man from Costa Rica was gone.  I started up my scooter, lit a cigarette and headed home.

                Now here it is more than five years later and I still haven't done much with my life.  I did, however, venture out into our own desert across New Mexico and Arizona.  I felt like I had to do something while I had the chance, although I am positive that it would in no way have compared to the grand adventure of being a coffee plantation worker in Costa Rica.  I guess I will never know.  As I've often heard Anthony Kiedis graciously sing, "...it's better to regret something you did, than something you didn't do."  I wish I could have taken that advice then instead of wondering now.