ADVENTURES OF A COSMIC VAGABOND

Observing the obvious

I posted Death & Coincidence at 1:43am and at 4:22am I stepped out to start a vagabonding adventure. What will I find? Four hours later a man falls grasping his chest. Massive heart attack. What a coincidence. Medics were called and enroute they request information, any previous heart conditions, family history of heart conditions, is he conscious, is he breathing, is he taken medications for anything. They never ask if he has taken the Covid 19 vaccine. He is rushed away in an aid car. I don’t know if he is still alive. I know his name and will check on his condition today.

I was vagabonding in Kirkland Washington. The city that launched the CV19 scam. My teenage hometown. My first girlfriend, my first kiss, my first car, my first beer. Special memories. A subscriber sends me a text. He lives near Kirkland. He sends a picture of chemtrails in the sky.  Some THING ordered an extra spraying over Kirkland. I looked up to see giant H’s.

I then see a homeless man standing at a freeway exit selling roses. I know him. He use to ride my bus. I go over to him and ask him if he remembers me. He did, even remembered my name. I told him I was fired for not taking the vaccine. He said he was sorry. Randy has made a living for the past 20 years selling long stem roses on the side of the road. Every morning he buys them at the nearest Safeway. He started his career when a police officer chased him off a street corner for being a homeless beggar. He returned the next day with a new sign, ROSES FOR SALE. The police left him alone.  I bought a rose for $5 and we parted.

I arrived home and Dbanjo was waiting for me.

We went out into the garden where I noticed my face fell off. What does this mean? More concrete repair work?

This is another filler article while I work on my other two writing projects that require time. My vagabonding allowed me to meditate on both. This is a very, very strange place. My college English professor comes to mind after writing that sentence, “Mike, writing more than one very doesn’t make it anymore very.” She wrote a note on my final essay. “IF YOU DON’T PURSUE A CAREER IN WRITING I WILL HUNT YOU DOWN AND KILL YOU.” I’ve lived my life as a paranoid ever since, but I love her. It was at her inspiration and teaching that I am writing this article.

THE END