I should’ve been a ventriloquist, or a cop maybe.  My Mother had always hoped that I’d be something honorable like a doctor.  My teachers had hoped that I would just graduate.  I loved school.  My teachers hated me because I was smarter than all of them.  I figured that it would be a horrible idea to waste all this intelligence on more education, so I became a writer, and in turn pissed everyone off; including myself.  Days and nights were spent with pen and paper in an attempt to create the cliché American novel – something about freedom no longer being free or that heroes are always sacrificed and love never lasts forever.  I’m still working on that one – it’s a work in progress.  In the mean time I’d like to tell you about Victor. 
I met Victor in Florida while researching the state’s rich Spanish history for a story that I’ve yet to finish.  He was seated next to me at a Marlin’s game.  They were great seats but I found it increasingly difficult to focus on the game.  The guy next to me kept talking to me about the most ridiculous things.  At first it was rather uncomfortable.  He’d go on and on about his girlfriend’s bowel problems.  It was the most unsettling thing I’ve had to endure.  He got up once and I was praying that he had left – that my company wasn’t adequate enough for him.  Twenty minutes later, the man returned; with two beers and two large nachos.  I warmed up a little.  While attempting to eat and still focus on the game he spoke to me about his political aspirations.  I tried to stay interested and remain aloof at the same time, but the guy was growing on me. 

After the game believe it or not, we stopped at a local pub for a drink.  Sure, he had his quirks but he was hilarious.  And he bought all the drinks so how could I say no. 

“I could write a book about you.”  I told him. 

“Just one?”


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