The only question is whether I can carry the guitar and more than likely I cannot. Accepting that as a casualty is a hard one but everything else is up in smoke so it doesn't make much difference.
The Fort Worth Greyhound station isn't terribly far from here. The Denver Greyhound station is on 19th Street and there are four or five homeless shelters of varying descriptions within five to ten blocks of there.
Walking would be difficult but possible. With the guitar it would probably be impossible. Besides the guitar, I also need the floor boxes and that takes it from impossible to absurd.
Selling the stuff is unthinkable but so is dying in Texas. On balance is going somewhere that isn't crawling with people with concealed weapons all empowered by the love of Jesus, notwithstanding how few of them actually know the material.
More and more, that looks like the answer. Sell what remains and go entirely underground. The only way I can be tracked is with the debit card and there's hardly anything in it so it would be useless for that. I have very little ID and that can be easily chucked in a pinch and the dental records are in Greece. Good chance I could disappear without a trace.
The other choice is to rage against that dark night but that was a load of crap. The last words from Dylan Thomas were, "I drank eighteen straight whiskies. I think that was a record."
The only difference between he and any other alcoholic is that he didn't die smelling of vomit and shit.
Update:
There is a CAT scan scheduled for the 13th and I promised I would do it. I really don't care what the results are as I have no interest in something else they can't fix. Nevertheless, I promised and will stay until then.
The Fort Worth Greyhound station isn't terribly far from here. The Denver Greyhound station is on 19th Street and there are four or five homeless shelters of varying descriptions within five to ten blocks of there.
Walking would be difficult but possible. With the guitar it would probably be impossible. Besides the guitar, I also need the floor boxes and that takes it from impossible to absurd.
Selling the stuff is unthinkable but so is dying in Texas. On balance is going somewhere that isn't crawling with people with concealed weapons all empowered by the love of Jesus, notwithstanding how few of them actually know the material.
More and more, that looks like the answer. Sell what remains and go entirely underground. The only way I can be tracked is with the debit card and there's hardly anything in it so it would be useless for that. I have very little ID and that can be easily chucked in a pinch and the dental records are in Greece. Good chance I could disappear without a trace.
The other choice is to rage against that dark night but that was a load of crap. The last words from Dylan Thomas were, "I drank eighteen straight whiskies. I think that was a record."
The only difference between he and any other alcoholic is that he didn't die smelling of vomit and shit.
Update:
There is a CAT scan scheduled for the 13th and I promised I would do it. I really don't care what the results are as I have no interest in something else they can't fix. Nevertheless, I promised and will stay until then.
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