May Gumbytron heap blessings on you and yours

Pizza Pops (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

This is a short ramble for a snowy Tuesday night in March.

The world around me is either speeding up or I am slowing down, I think,
think about the coming Spring, trapped in a receding storyline.  It seems that
I’ve been down this road so many times, ya’d think that I’d have learned by now.

Friday, I went to Downertown to take Pops to Goodwill.  He was half-lit on a bottle
of Kessler’s when I got there at 2:30 PM, just outside Huckabuck.  I had
stopped at Mike’s house and left his ma some wires to strip, but Mike was out
with his old man, cashing his check.  Bobs was there at Pops when I got there
and I could tell Pops was in a mood ’cause he was wandering around the shack
looking for shit.

“Should we call Mike?” I ask Pops.

“Nah.”

Pops puts a knife in his belt and looks like he’s ready to go.

“You can’t take a knife into Goodwill,” I say.

“They won’t see it.”

We get in the Minivan of Obsequious Delight and head east toward the Goodwill
Store.  I ask Pops for a cigarette.  He smokes some off-brand full-flavored 100
menthols that changes from month to month depending on what’s cheapest at
the neighborhood drive-thru.  He has a running tab there and pays it every month
when he gets his SSI check.

Pops looks really tight, like he’s in one of his fogs when we get to the store.  We
park a distance off and walk into the store.  I tell Pops to take his time and see if
there are any clothes he likes as I head off looking for books.  Pops heads for the
men’s pants.  About five minutes into my shopping, I see Pops shifting around
behind me.

“Didn’t find anything you wanted?” I ask.

“Nah.”

“Why don’t you look through the books and find something?”

“I don’t read books.”

I know that’s a lie but I also know how Pops is when he’s tight.  He’s had too many
run-ins with the law and all he wants to do is go back to his shack.  I stop by the
men’s clothing for one minute, Pops in tow and grab a couple of items.  My shadow
follows me to the register.  I’m overloaded but turn down Pops’ offers to hold
something.

Pops is looking at an island of reading glasses when I spot the island of sun glasses.

“Dad, look!  Sunglasses.”  I know that is one thing Pops will buy and he starts
trying on a couple of pairs.

“$9.99?  I’m not paying that!” Pops says when he finds a pair he likes.

“The rack says $1.99, Dad.”

He puts the glasses on the counter.  I make some small talk with the clerk, but Pops
isn’t the only one now who wants to get Pops home.  We take our spoils and head
back to Huckabuck.