He may or may not have been a drifter. I can't remember all of his details. Allow me to backtrack...
It was a balmy Wednesday evening in Philadelphia. I had just recently returned to United States (notice I didn't use the term "American") soil after a much-needed trip "off the grid" to Canada for fishing and outdoor fun-ness, and after having a few days to regroup, I was still in the process of re-organizing my immediate future. It's funny how vacations can relieve stress and create it in the process. Anyway...
The plan for my night was simple: I was supposed to get together with my buddy Max to work out some details on some video projects that he had coming up, and that was it. I didn't think it would take that long, and I was also sorely in need of a decent night's rest, so my hope was to meet up, catch up, come up with a loose plan, done. Home by 11-11:30. Goodnight.
It didn't turn out that way. For starters, I was eager to get back onto the music scene (of sorts), so instead of meeting at any old bar just for drinks, I came up with this great idea to meet up at an open mic night at a local dive. A great idea, for sure, except that it didn't start until 9 and I tend to forget what the rush of playing live music does to me...
Max was running a little late, so I had a couple beers before I played my set. He walked in as I was playing my last song, and when I returned to my post at the bar, he greeted me with a "City Wide," which is basically a shot of whiskey (varies depending on which Philly bar you frequent) and a PBR pounder.
For reasons I don't need to explain but will anyway, normally I would NEVER consider drinking this combination. For one, I can't get behind PBR any more. It used to not be cool until Clint Eastwood drank it in Gran Torino which actually drove the price up (I'm convinced that's what did it), it doesn't taste all that good to me and it's not really beer (it's made with corn syrup). Combine that with the fact that the copious amounts of Evan Williams (I know, I'm not proud of it either) I consumed in my mid-twenties have numbed my tastebuds to most any whiskey flavor and have also desensitized any effects I might feel from it until it's far too late, and add to the mix that my adrenaline surge from being on stage would further enhance the experience and...well...things will happen.
But hey, when someone buys you a drink, you don't turn it down. You do the sensible, friendly thing and drink it. So I did. We got to talking, one beer led to another, another beer led to another City Wide, and before I knew it, it was nearly closing time and I had all but forgotten about my plan to get a decent night of sleep.
Was it worth it? Of course. Some of my best (well, also worst) bonding experiences have happened this way, and this was no exception. I left the bar that night feeling like I had gained a friend, feeling no worries whatsoever. Not worried at all about my impending full day of work the next day, not worried about the steady rain that had started falling since I entered the bar, and certainly not worried about the amount of money I'd just spent.
Still feeling surprisingly coherent, I was walking home along a normally busy street when I paused for a red light and looked over to my right. I saw what I thought was a homeless man with a black dog leashed around his foot. The dog, seemingly friendly, came over to me and started sniffing and licking and doing his dogly investigation, thankfully stopping just short of marking his territory.
So, obviously seeking attention, I bent down to pet the dog, and somehow started a conversation with the "homeless man," who actually turned out to be a man in his mid-twenties hitchhiking on his way to California. Why, I can't remember. At this point, I think I finally started noticing the effects...but one thing I do know: hitchhiking on the East coast is not as easy as it is on the West coast. In fact, I think it's illegal in New Jersey.
Still undoubtedly feeling bad for a man and a dog sitting out in the rain that I would have felt drunk or sober, the conversation went on and I let him know that there was a spare cot in my place (DON'T TELL MY LANDLORD) if he wanted to get out of the rain for a few hours. Of course he agreed.
I know, I know...don't trust anybody. I'm crazy, right? And maybe it was the booze talking, but after living in a city for several months, I've started to notice my ability to tell the difference between who's trying to grift me and who's genuine has enhanced greatly. I didn't get a bad vibe, so we went back, shared some stories about the West coast, stayed up far too late (for me, at least) playing with the dog, I gave him some spiel about the disgusting Philadelphia city water he was carrying around/drinking and FINALLY I got some rest. Not nearly enough, of course.
I got up the next morning extremely late (yet I somehow made it to work on time, benefits of living within walking distance). I came downstairs and all was quiet. After a brief chat about sights to see in Philly, the man and his dog left. There's probably no way I'll ever see or hear from them again, but hopefully they made it to California, or wherever they were actually going...and hopefully they enjoyed their brief stay.
