Out of the Ashes

Turns out that the girl that robbed me in the mangroves was busted in Marathon key at a motel within a half day of the incident. The cops had kicked the door in on the motel, finding her and a drug dealer with guns and drugs, landing her a prison sentence. My bunkmate, Moses, was at the location that night when I was robbed and arrested. He was smoking cocaine. He told me how he was there, saw my things in the mud, and was also arrested that night.  

My spades partner, Oneilio, was in for cocaine as well. He was actually a friend of Andy’s- more or less, supplying him with his cocaine. Oneilio explained how he had routinely delivered prostitutes and rocks to Andy. It all became quite clear that I was set up from the beginning as I had suspected but now I had proof and witnesses.

Andy had planned on working at getting Julie to bend his way, painting me in a bad light, in order to get his equipment back, and suckering Julie out of all the money he could get, while knowing she was in control of her mother’s estate. That is, if she wasn’t conspiring with him all along. Knowing that didn’t do a whole lot for my situation except to reaffirm my awareness related to what my drinking had done in conjunction with my needs, like the need to be wanted or be part of something.

It was overwhelming, my wanting to file charges against him but I was not with any way to do it, so I thought about it all the time, remembering how Andy’s mother had told Julie about Andy doing a year or so in a Florida Prison for being involved with a situation where they cut a guys stomach open to get the Heroine out that he was trafficking. It was odd that she would tell Julie this. Maybe she was involved in the scam too. Was that why she bought Andy the Jolly Roger flag for the boat? The whole thing was making me crazy.

Once again, I was released from jail. It was around noon when I left. It is easy to remember, only because I wanted to eat first and they wouldn’t serve me. My feet quickly took me to the area of activity where I thought I could find some assistance. Lots of people had told me of a church that would give you a bus ticket to get home if you were stranded but this proved to be untrue.

At one point, during my hike, I met a group of hippie kids from upstate that were hanging out for whatever festival was going on at the time. They were down here selling pot and mushrooms, planning to leave in the morning. I was given a pair of shoes and some mushrooms. Seeing no point in not eating them, I did. We wandered around as a group and I felt safe. They took me to where they had been staying, which happened to be the rooftop of an abandoned building. There was a ladder to get up with that they pulled up onto the roof to conceal their whereabouts.

We hung out and talked about our travels that day and into the evening. We drank a little bit and smoked a lot. They invited me to leave with them in the morning and I gladly accepted. Then they gave me more mushrooms. As we wandered around, finding cell phones and money that had been lost by people, the drugs took affect and it became very difficult to manage. Feeling out of sorts, I had to get somewhere to rest out of sight. We headed back to their camp on the rooftop. Somewhere along the way I became separated from them.

When I was able to think, I found myself being walked back to the room where I had spent the majority of my time, in the Monroe County Jail. It had been all of fourteen hours.

When I woke up from my coma, I found myself in the same bunk I had been in for the past three arrests. Toilet paper was wrapped all around me like I had been mummified. Moses and the guys were laughing at me when I broke out of the bunk. It was funny to them, that I was wasted when I came back, and that I had been so adamant about leaving but repeatedly failed after they had told me it was near impossible to leave this place.

The officer’s had given me the charge sheet when I came in but I wasn’t able to read it. Now, I see that it says I have been charged with trespassing. When I finally speak with my Public Defender, I explain to him that I want a trial.

My chance to go back was gone, just like Gilligan’s Island. 

The kids, I would learn, had made their way up to Miami. They were staying in a hotel when they met up with a grave situation. The girl that was traveling with them, “Rose”, had been killed by the slitting of her throat, one of the guys was dead of an overdose of Heroine, and another guy was beaten badly and left for dead. Prison sentences were handed out but probably not for the people who did the killing. Had I not become separated from them, I would have been right there with them- dead or going to prison that time. That’s where the kid they found alive in the room went.

Was it that I was spiritually guided from that or was it just a coincidence? It sure wasn’t feeling like I was being guided.

People I had known on the streets were being found dead in many strange places. One man, who claimed to be a Veteran of the Marines named, Sonny, was found dead near mile marker fifteen. His throat was slashed. He was lying in the ditch on the side of the road when a motorist found him. Another man was killed while he slept on the beach by a hammer blow to the head. People were being killed by methadone overdoses. All of these people were homeless people. Of course, no charges were ever filed.

Within a week or two they sent a Psychiatrist in to evaluate me because no one goes to trial with a trespassing charge. He interviews me, tells me to “Keep fighting champ”, and then leaves. Several continuances later, they tell me that because I am unfit and incompetent, that there would be no trial. Forty-five days after they brought me in I am sent to court where they give me time served. I was released on Valentines Day.

Chapter; fourth release

That very night, I went to the Safe Zone. When I awoke the next morning, a truck had arrived that was driven by an elderly man looking for people who wanted to go to work. Wiping the grease from my face, and grabbing my belongings, I ran to the vehicle. It seemed only one other person was interested. It didn’t seem peculiar at the time; that no one was really interested. And I didn’t care about anything but the question of work. After I got in the truck we headed for a marina, where a boat was being loaded with tools and supplies to transport us out to an island.

As we waited to leave, I was told that we were to be working on a home on Ballast Key, ten nautical miles west of Key West. Smiling and filled with a renewed hope for a change, I was able to finally enjoy the moments as we cruised out to Ballast Key.

On the way out, we were told that the job entailed storm damage to the home used by the servants and guests, one of two that were built on the island. The project was at the drywall repair stage since the work had already been done to the exterior.

The first night there, I slept under the stars in a hammock on the beach. It was beautiful to have the sounds of the surf, the warm air blowing, and the starlit sky for company. For some reason, I awoke from a dream at about two thirty in the morning. My eyes focused in on the stars, and I looked for meteors and shooters. That was when I saw the red streak shoot across the sky at a great distance. It went from south to north. As I attempted to understand what I had just seen, a blue streak shot across the sky from east to west, traveling from as far way as I could see to the farthest it could be seen traveling. This was perpendicular to the path of the red one. It was a very strange and confusing sight.

Later, I would inquire many places about it but received no comments of any sort. Why the coloration? Why did they intersect? Why did it seem like one was responding to the other? Was one or both meteor or comet? What was it that I saw? I want to know. 

We were going to be staying for several days, I found out, possibly a week or more. On the third day things got ugly. The guys I had come to work with turned into pirates, attacking me for my cigarette tobacco, taking my food, kicking me out of what they had going on and beating me up in the process. Now without food, I used the moon, lighting the waters up in the shallows, making it easy to find lobsters among the rocks for my supper. It seemed like a great idea to relocate my bedding area, moving to a new location to sleep at that night. It had to be somewhere they would not find me, for the fear that I would disappear permanently.

That night, while the property owner slept in his home, they had looted the property, throwing the rifles into the oceans surf that they found in the home. They raided food stores that were hidden, as well as vandalized the entire home, starting by slinging cooking oil all over the walls that we had just repaired, demonized by the liquor they had stolen.

The next day I asked them what happened, thinking that refugees had come ashore. They said it was a “power play”. That was a curious thing to say, and I am not sure what they meant but it seems like they were trying to extort money from the owner, David Wolkowsky. That’s when the guy I joined them with decided it would be best if we stuck together. It didn’t matter by then because we were loaded onto the boat and taken back to Key West within the next few hours. It was a silent and uncomfortable ride with evil but for the sounds of the boat cruising on the ocean.

When we arrived back at the marina, they asked me to join up with them in going up the Keys to another location to work. As I took down their phone number, I thought “Yeah, right”, while gathering my things. In another ten seconds I hit the bricks running. They probably had plans for me due to the fact that I had witnessed what they had done. This I was certain of.

Back on “Coquina Rock”, I searched for a place to hide like an animal. Finding a marina on the north side of the island, I met some street people who also resided in the area. They tell me that if I take five dollars to Dante’s Inferno, I can hang out there by the pool all day without any hassles from the Key West Police Department. They explained that I would be a paying customer, giving me the right to be there, which turned out to be true but that only lasts for as long as you can come up with the daily five bucks.

After the money that I had was gone, I began hiding my clothing that I had acquired from the thrift shop, underneath a low hanging palm tree, so I wouldn’t be seen carrying a bag. It was one of my only defenses to blend in.

As for the thrift shop, even if you have no money, you can still get what you need to have. 
The Salvation Army will gladly outfit you with whatever your needs are, taking down your social security number to submit for the accounting. If you ever need help, don’t hesitate to go to the thrift shop for help. No matter what help you may need, they will get you on the right track. And the best thing for you to do, if you ever find yourself down and out, is to stay away from anyone else on the street accept for the one person in the crowd that you can grow to confide in. Usually it’s the old man in the wheel chair that will be the most instrumental in recovering. Everyone else will keep you down and out, and don’t you forget it. This could prove to be life saving information if you ever find yourself on the street. 

The most potentially deadly situations will be found while searching for change, booze or a little dope. Keep to yourself and go without anything you think you need. All you need is air to breath, warmth, and a place to sleep. Anything else could get you killed- instantly or slowly but certain and definite.

Very quickly, I became acquainted with an old man in an electric wheel chair who was a Musician. He had a place that he stayed at behind a building that was condemned. There was an awning on the backside of it that was helping keep it concealed very well, along with trees, bushes, and fencing from the surrounding backyards. The awning kept the weather off of us pretty good, and it had a safe feeling about it. He said that it was the safest hide-away on the streets. Adding that he has used this particular spot for several years.

The first night I slept there with him, I had a dream about this humanoid demon. His chest had a cage door and behind it were my children. Their screams for me to release them were ear piercing. The head of this creature was extremely large and made of, what seemed like, Paper Mache. The head grew in size as I fought with this monster. Hacking at the head with a knife, I tore a large hole in it from the right temple to the chin on the opposite side. It laughed and said that I couldn’t destroy him, and that he was one hundred and forty eight years old. Terrorized by this nightmare and vision, I awoke, only to lay there the rest of the night wishing I could sleep again without the visions.

During the days, I hiked the local harbor where I would check in with boat Captains for work. There was a public head with a shower facility for the people who lived in the harbor on their various types of boats. If I stayed by it, I could manage to get inside before the door closed all the way, since being a person renting a slip or mooring ball is the only way to get a key to use it.

One day I had managed to acquire some money and went to a Tiki bar to sit and get a drink, while watching them feed the Tarpon from the docks with chicken scraps. The Tarpon were huge. Marveling at the sight of these Tarpon, I sipped my drink. That’s when I noticed a woman with a baby carriage walking along the dock in front of the Tiki bar. She had a sun hat and large sunglasses on, the air blowing her sundress around at her knees. It was Yoa, Sean’s new girlfriend, and an Icelander.

Yoa was the woman Sean had been seeing when he was thrown out of the apartment. She was from Iceland, here on a Visa to work as an Actress. She had become pregnant, which concerned Sean. He would often ask me about the situation but I just told him that it could be the best thing to ever happen to him if he let it be.

Yoa, of course, wanted to marry, becoming a U.S. resident but he shared his fear with me that she may have been using him. They had the baby just months before this, and were living together somewhere on the island. Routinely, I had been checking in with him at The Island Dogs bar when I was not in jail, only hoping for some news I could use.

Speaking her name got her to look my way. She was quick to join me at the table, where we talked for a while. It wasn’t easy to explain to her that I needed a friend and some guidance at finding a way home. It felt as though she may get the wrong impression, so I was careful in explaining my situation and the circumstances surrounding it.

There happened to be a place that was having a Grand Opening that night. Yoa mentioned that it was a new bar/restaurant that was having an Open Mike and outdoor dinner and drink special. Fifteen dollars got you a plate of food and all the beer you could drink. They were going to be there that night. Happily, I agreed to meet them there, with hope of getting some help with my dire needs from Sean.

Sean and Yoa showed up after I had been there for a few minutes. We got a table and were served our food and first round of drinks. Yoa snapped a photo of me that evening, and they brought me back to their pad, where I stayed for about two weeks.

During the time that they let me stay at their apartment, I managed to get a call back home. Calling Bob, practically begging him to help me get home, was a bit humiliating but I got over it. He agreed to help me, purchasing a bus ticket on the next bus leaving Key West for Grand Rapids. With the help of the last couple hundred dollars Bob had to work with, I would be leaving Key West within the next few days.

Before I left, Sean got a job working as a home stereo salesman for a well-known department store- Sears. We would sit on his porch when he got home in the evening, smoking cigars and talking about things that were important in life. Yoa didn’t really like it that Sean would be gone all day, then come home and sit outside until they went to bed. There isn’t a woman alive that would appreciate that but I think he was afraid of the strange new environment of being a father. Feeling it was my job to put him at ease, I did what I could to reinforce him about the situation. He was doing the best he could at the time.

Andy happened to drive through one day, stopping when he saw that Sean’s car was home. Andy soon found out that I was there and quickly worked himself into a frenzy. It was hard to keep from getting into a brawl with him over all the wrong that I felt he had done to me but, because I was at someone else’s apartment, I kept from being moved to creating a disturbance in the community.

Andy persisted at telling me that I had to leave Key West. His fear that I was in the area only reinforced my understanding of his malice towards me. It made me feel a sense of satisfaction that he and Julie were together as a couple. The way I figured, they deserved each other.

When he finally left, Sean commended me for being a “class act”. All I really truly wanted to do was pummel Andy into a bloody, quivering heap, load him into a fishing boat and put him into a chum machine. That’s exactly how I felt. It was with a sense of gratitude to Sean, that I controlled myself. And I was just thankful that this didn’t happen to me. Finally. I was leaving.

Chapter; Going Home

It might have been a Friday when I boarded the bus. So many emotions were running through me; happiness, relief and nervousness, especially since it was March, cold up in the states. All I had to wear was a pair of sweat pants and some other scraps of northern clothing that I managed to find at the thrift store.

Settling into my seat, I wondered if the drama was over. It made sense to start seeking out, through the people around me, for a traveling partner- someone to bond with on some level. Feeling that I needed someone to be a second pair of eyes to sense danger before it happens, I did a quick profile of the people around me, examining the clothing that they were wearing, their shoes- anything that would tell me something about them.

Picking out a person, I introduced myself. We exchanged short versions of what we had been doing in Florida and where we were off to now. This person was going to Indiana. Perfect, I thought. Since I am going to Michigan, we will be traveling the distance together or at least as far as Indiana. He and I had much in common, making me feel at ease about the trip, for the most part.

It was pretty wild seeing the sights along the way. There were things like wild hogs along the highway, and various stretches of some of the most beautiful mountains I had seen.

Georgia was pretty scary when I got off to transfer. There were cops, DEA agents, and what seemed to be drug pushers. It seemed likely to think they were Narcotics agents who were posing as pushers.

Kentucky was pretty cool also, with the famous Kentucky Derby Horserace Track.

When my traveling partner got off in Indianapolis, there was some downtime before the next departure. He invited me to a sports bar for a drink. It was easy, at this point in my big adventure, to decide that it wasn’t a good idea. All I wanted to do was to get home. Enough had happened to me already, and I was so close that it didn’t make sense to chance another mishap. Amid the baggage and chaotic clusters of citizens, I stayed at the station, waiting patiently.

Chicago… when I got off at the Chicago stop, I wanted a drink. Of all the places to be alone, this was not the one to go exploring in but I decided to anyway. There wasn’t a place in sight that looked like a store or a bar, so I began walking to find one. It was a bad time to explore to, since I was under a time constraint. Feeling like I could manage, I set out to find a place to buy a drink.

After asking around, I found a place, buying myself a twenty-two-ounce bottle of beer. Walking back, I was asked for a cigarette. This person also asked me for a sip off of my drink. Handing him the bottle, while thinking that I couldn’t drink the whole thing without being busted anyway, he slammed down over half of it, asking me if I was from the country or something. It must be that only a fool would give out any handouts in Chicago. It’s a good thing I was there.

Boarding the bus bound for Grand Rapids, I felt a sense of closure on the detachment with my home. By the time I finally got off of the bus in Grand Rapids, it had been almost a full twenty-four hours and I hadn’t had much more than four hours of sleep. Bob picked me up at the station and drove us back to the house he had most recently built, anxious to hear the whole story and to put me to work completing the odds and ends that needed to be done before he and his family could legally take occupancy. I would be staying there for a period of time unknown.

Within the next four days, I had done many of the major tasks that only I could have done with an acceptable level of quality. I was thankful to be back performing my trade, and it showed. He took me to the shop that he had been spending much of his time at, to give me a shot at working there. It was more like dragging in fresh meat to abuse.

The company manufactured, and sold, high-end cabinetry. By the end of the day I had proven myself and was offered a job for very little pay for my skills but I was very pleased to have something to build on, and accepted. When I attempted to ask for a better wage, I was told that I would have a very hard time finding anything better. There was little I could do to argue since I felt an indebtedness to Bob for assisting me with my flee from Key West, and out of my gratitude for that help, I stayed. It didn’t make sense to complain any further. It didn’t matter much either way but I couldn’t just accept the pay without trying to get a better deal negotiated.

Everything was great at the job, especially since it was right on a stream that the salmon ran up to spawn. About a week into it, we were on our way to the “rat-factory”, as Bob called it, when we noticed a brand new Dodge Charger that the Michigan state police were driving on the expressway. It had passed us. My surprise at seeing the State Police using these Dodge Chargers caused me to make a comment to Bob about it, so he sped up a bit to get a better look at it.

The car was sweet. And then this sweet looking Michigan State Police cruiser slowed down and got behind us. His bubbles went up a minute later, while Bob was asking me if I had anything on me. The cop came to the window and told Bob that he was in violation with his window tinting, and that he had a tail light out. That’s when the officer asked me for my I.D. The officer went back to his car and ran our information, came back and handed Bob his license, telling us that he had to take me in on a child support warrant. Great. Here I was again- lucky enough to get back home in time to get a job somewhere. Now, I was probably going to lose it because I was going to jail for Child Support, AGAIN.

My court day rolled around the next day or so, where I told them that I had gone to Florida to work but failed, explaining how I was waiting for my disability insurance to go through. The judge said that when I got it, I should bring it in to them framed, as the prize that it would be. After proclaiming to them that I would, she handed down a sentence of ninety days. Bob had been in contact with the court to verify that I did, in fact, have a job, earning me the work release program. They moved me into the old Animal Control complex, once a residential mental hospital. How fitting. Within a day or so, I resumed working and saving my money up.

On the weekdays I worked at the rat-factory, and on the weekends, Bob sprang me out to work on his house in the cornfield. It worked out very well for me because all I had to do was sleep in the work-release program and bring them my rent, saving the rest of my money for something useful. That something ended up being a brand new laptop computer that I intended to use in order to fulfill my promise to publish the music that Danny and I had created.

Now, the problem I had was in the factory setting. Adam and Bob taunted each other with their seemingly friendly badgering of one another. It was part of the “fun” they had at work. Keeping as busy as I could, while refraining from being a part of it was nothing new to me, at all. Trying to ignore them, I couldn’t help but understand that Bob was finally getting a taste of his own medicine.

At some point in their head games, Adam must have said something along the lines of replacing Bob with me. Bob began trying me at my abilities to decipher how to use and understand machinery in the shop. He normally took it upon himself to belittle me by giving me extensive instructions, as if I was lacking experience with woodworking machinery. This also gave him an excuse to be doing very little.

Bob had tried to make me look incompetent by sending me to change shaper bits, set the machine’s equipment up to do the machining, and run the cabinetry parts on that piece of machinery- machinery that I had never, ever, seen before. It really displeased him that he didn’t have an example of incompetence to give to Adam.

Bob was becoming more nervous about me replacing him, and doing what was within his power at making things worse for me. Because Bob was my ride, I absorbed the impact on the ride home with the head games that would accumulate, having a destructive affect on my psyche. My stress level was going through the roof, triggering my Paranoia, which caused a lot of disturbance for me. Things compounded until I began to make a lot of mistakes on the job. My first instinct was to think that someone had moved my parts that were stacked in a certain way, in order to be cut or shaped properly. And maybe they had been.

On another occasion I was working materials through a machine fed overhead belt sander that always accumulated a large pile of sawdust beneath it despite the dust collection system. Deciding I had to sneak a cigarette, thinking that my nerves would calm down, I used the vacuum of the system to evacuate the cigarette smoke from the area. Since I was at the other end of the shop, they wouldn’t be able to see me smoking, and since they frowned on my taking a cigarette break I would be able to conceal it with the help of the vacuum.

Well, I had set the cigarette down and the cherry fell off into the pile of sawdust. The smoke started to come from underneath the unit, filling the area. They thought I had burned the belt but it was the sawdust pile smoldering. I panicked, trying to find the fire before they came over. It was now a glowing spot of ember about eight inches around. Luckily I managed to take care of it before it could be a serious problem but part of me thought it would really be something they deserved for the dangerous games they were playing with my head. It was well known by all involved, that I had been coping with psychological issues as a result of my automobile accident. Fortunately, my Social Security claim was finally granted to me- a full award of benefits.

A very short time after that, I quit and moved in with my sister, Amanda. The house was the one in Conklin, where I had been helping my mother before the Julie fiasco. It didn’t feel safe in Bob’s company any longer, and having my disability award gave me the independence needed to get away from him once again. Although we have had our many differences, I would continue to think of him and his wife. And although he may never know or accept it, I understand why he has issues enough to see past his Ego, and care for him as a friend, though scarred as we both are.   

Now that I had a job, and a goal, I decided to try, one last time, to find someone special to share my time with. Having heard the many commercials for eHarmony for a few years, along with many other dating sites, even though I scoffed at them, I decided to start looking into the idea.

EHarmony’s site was the most logical to me. I mean, if you’re going to try it, you need to be logical. Things began with trying the offers to check out these places for free, and then I figured that the eighty or ninety dollars it cost was a glass ceiling- a way of grading the prospects. If a person wasn’t concerned with the fee, they were probably worth my time, even if I wasn’t what they were generally looking for in life but then again, I was looking for a particular person myself. It was all fair play.

Never breathing a word to anyone about my plans, I set up a free account to browse with. Using the photo that Yoa had taken of me in Key West, I filled out my profile information, went through all of the protocol for getting my matches from the database, and started surfing for potential women to interact with.

When I knew I was onto something that looked meaningful I bought a money order, mailed it to them, and waited for the notification that I was able to start the process. That’s when I met Jenny.

Jennifer was not the first girl I tried to start interaction with. There were several women that I had screened, all rejecting me for something I had written in my profile. The question of what that was got me to wonder if I had said something wrong, so I inspected it, deciding that I had said nothing wrong at all. Something I said might have sounded strange to them but I wasn’t going to go in and change it to improve my chances. If they didn’t like what I stated in my profile, then it was only because they weren’t worth my time. It was only a matter of time before I would meet the person who could appreciate what was there to move on with, which is exactly what happened.   

Jennifer had posted a photo that was taken by Siena, her four year-old little girl. It wasn’t a flattering photo but I instantly knew when I saw it, that she had used it for a reason. The photo, for the sake of what she looked like was unimportant. It was what that photo said to me that was important, and it spoke volumes. We started out by picking the questions that were prewritten, the ones that help you get to know something more but providing a buffer from the rejection a person might feel if it goes wrong somehow. We read each others answers, continuing the process until she decided that she was interested in taking it to the next level, which was direct chat communication over the computer.

Our cerebral connection grew until we decided that it was time to meet and see if there was more, even though her friends told her that I was probably bald because of the hat I was wearing in my photo. That was in September of 2008.

My mother insisted on driving me to Jenny’s apartment instead of me taking the bus, so she could lay eyes on her, determining if she was a good idea for me to be dabbling with. Knowing my history with all the wrong women, it was possibly the most loving thing my mother could have offered me in our relationship at the time.

By November we knew we were compatible. She liked how I got along with her two children, and I liked being with them. By Christmas we were comparing notes to be certain that we had something that was real. Before the winter had begun, we knew that we wanted to end our search, and before winter was over we knew that we had finally found what we both searched for and wanted to keep.

This new birth between Jenny and I led me to move to Lansing with her. There were a few inconveniences with re-establishing my medical care but I didn’t care. Certainly, I am not about to say that life has been a bed of roses. Anyone who thinks it is, clearly, hasn’t actually had to do anything for their self, and will find that they are helpless when they are forced to have to carve an existence out of the Earth on their own.

Roses need tending to and only become as beautiful as you care for them to be. Ours are growing just wonderfully where we are in Boyne Falls, Michigan. She and I have never been happier in life despite the wolves that always seem to be at our door. Without those wolves, we wouldn’t be able to fully love and appreciate each other as much as we do, and can only hope for the rest of the world to one day have for their own. 

Not having found what you do not want in life, how will you know what you do want? Joy, Love and Pain go together. Life is Good when you let Love Win. Don’t go through life without feeling it.         

I hope you liked it. 

Key West- sorry no time to edit but it is for you

The one thing that helped me to stay sane was, writing. The other thing that helped was working in the kitchen. 
Ideally, you try to get into the kitchen, so you can eat a little bit more than what they normally serve. It was all garbage but you get a bit more of it. 
Eventually, I was fired for my antics and practical jokes. There was a Log Book that we had to sign but the page was left empty and wasted, to me. I took it upon myself to enter actual log entries akin to a Ships Log, entering things that portrayed the actual goings on only in metaphorical illustrations. The guys I worked with got a big kick out of it, and a star was born. 
Now I was invited into the mop closet to smoke cigarettes that we got from the kitchen employees.

The cameras were located in many places, especially on the mop closet entry. It was always comical to think of the guy manning the surveillance monitors, who would see us coming out of the closet like a bunch of clowns getting out of a V.W. Beetle at a circus. Fifteen guys coming out of the room one by one, carrying a broom or mop or dustpan- whatever they could carry out, like it was normal routine activity. As if the guard didn’t know what was going on. It always cracked me up when they did that, wondering why the surveillance system didn’t have audio as well.

One day, I was fired from the kitchen. It wasn’t for the butter that I put on the backside of the cooler door handle, or the baking grease I smeared on the mop handles, or for the balled up cake residue left in the pan- that I placed on the floor near the bathroom as if someone crapped their pants. It wasn’t for switching the contents of the barrels that held the powdered sugar and the Corn Starch or for smuggling salt and pepper back to the dorm or for being caught smoking. And I didn’t get fired for playing the pots and pans like percussion instruments or for doing unflattering impersonations of Mrs. Alverez, the kitchen lady, or for eating an entire roast beef that I took from the O.R. cooler. And It wasn’t because they found twenty containers of peanut butter while doing a routine search of my stuff or for putting jelly in someone shoes before they got up to go to work. I was fired because an English chap, that started working with us, decided to try getting in on the fun by urinating in a cup he had been drinking lemonade from, which he placed in the O.R. cooler after trying to offer us “lemon tea”. Someone had taken the cup from the cooler thinking that it was actual lemon juice because of the seeds that were in it, and either drank from it or added it to a batch of tea. They took me directly to the disciplinary wing called, Alpha, telling me that I was on thirty days confinement for pissing in the tea. What could I do?

The cell they put me in was on the upper tier. A young guy was already in there, so I was glad to have company… for about two days. He had very long hair, like I did before I cut it to work in the kitchen. Noticing the dirty nails and scratching made me suspect that he had a hygiene problem. The problem was that the dirt turned out to be blood.  It didn’t take long to talk him into cutting his hair a bit, so he asked me to help him with it. I agreed and we went to the officer’s desk, while we were out for our one-hour a day to shower and what not, asking to use the clippers.

When I dove into his hair with the clippers, dozens of Nits were easily seen. I freaked out because I was dealing with lice and didn’t want to be. They sent us to Medical to be seen and we were sent back with some chemical solution to treat with. We both had to stand naked in the shower area for almost and hour with the stuff on us. After we finished I was relieved to have gotten past it. There was no more sleep disturbing scratching going on after that but my sleep was disturbed anyway, when a ruckus two cells down made me jump out of bed.

Looking out the window of the door, I could see the clock that said three thirty, as well as, a guard on the floor below, watching the cell doors to see if anyone was up looking that way. There was a guard standing at the door of the cell with the commotion, and some muffled shouting. Then there was a bunch of thumping and screaming, and a loud crash as the person being beaten was slammed into a stainless steel cart on the catwalk that for some strange reason was in front of his cell. Blood was everywhere. I will never forget the faces of the officer’s that did it. One kept his head shaved and had a nasty scar on his head from a bullet wound that he received in Desert Storm. Later, I found out that this was retaliation for filing a complaint and suing the officer. Whether that’s true or not, I cannot say. What I do know is that they attacked and nearly killed him. Four officers were involved.

The very next morning, in what I understood as an attempt to keep any lawyers from trying to find a witness, our cell door windows were completely covered with a plastic coating that prevented us from seeing out. A recipe file card was taped over a small hole they left in the center to peek in at us with. When they delivered breakfast, I asked the trustee what went on. All he could tell me was that a trail of blood two feet wide was left on the floor that led all the way to the medical office.

Just before my thirty days were up, I started scratching at night. I thought I was going mad. After putting in a kite to see a nurse, I was told that it was Scabies. They gave me some cream to apply to the areas. Here I was, fearing that I would get lice from the kid.

Joe was one of the many gay men in my dorm. He, like a lot of gay men, took a personal interest in me.  I laughed it off as well as I could, and developed a report with him, even hung out a couple of times when we were released. He was another crack addict. When he worked at a gas station that they trusted him with closing, he stole fifteen hundred dollars from the deposit bag for his habit, eventually fleeing to another state. He said all the right things and sounded sincere in his rehabilitation. After going back to the men's shelter I found that my belongings had been given or thrown away, and that I was not welcome to stay there, I had no place to go but the Safe Zone. I asked if I could entrust him with some notebooks and writings that I had accumulated while serving the one year long sentence for the solicitation to sell cocaine charge- whatever that means.

Joe had an apartment that he was sharing with a family he became acquainted with. It seemed like I could count on him to keep my papers safe for the time being, so I left them with him, along with my food stamp card to let him get a few things he needed as payment for storage. He ended up getting thrown out for drugs a short time afterwards, taking my card and causing for my papers to be thrown out with the trash.

The time of day became late in my worry, and I found myself the farthest I could be from the Safe Zone. You have to check in by a certain time and the gate closes a little while after that, putting me on the streets for the night once again. Left to wander, I headed for Duval Street to find an opportunity.

What I found were these people who were palm weavers. They made hats, baskets and bowls. They fashioned roses and crucifixes also, which seemed to be of interest to the tourists. All while sitting at the foot of the carnival style buildings that lined the street and sidewalks. It was a routine sight in the shopping and drinking streets, which was pretty much all of them.

The city has street vendor permits, of a certain number, that people can purchase for things particular to their “trade”. My questions began, asking each one of them if they needed help with anything, finally finding a couple guys who said I could help them sell their goods- roses made from Palm fronds. Soon, I discovered that this was a big joke because they would sell a couple roses and just go to the store for beers with what money they received. Then they would leave me to watch their spot and handle sales, barking at tourists as they walked by- same as the Carnival or County Fair.

Feeling and looking like a clown, I tried to play the part. It became obvious that these guys were addicts when they came back, talking strangely about where they stuck “the pipe” in the bushes and asking me if I “smoked”. The night proceeded while they squandered the money as it came in, spending it on drinking and drugs. I had accumulated only eight dollars because for every item I could sell they gave me a dollar bill.

It was turning into a far desperate situation than I could have imagined myself being a part of... I lost hope and turned to trying my hand at prostitution when three old ladies came along. What made it easy to think of was that I had been drinking and became hypnotized by the strong sexual overtone of the adult environment, like the festival that they call Fantasy Fest. The three of them were here on vacation though, and had just got off of a cruise ship to stay for a while and fly back home. One in particular was perky and upbeat, looking around sixty-five year old. Though a difficult decision to make, I put the bait out there and began flirting to let them know it could be had. All I could think was it could be worth a couple hundred bucks, and how I could be gone in the next day or two- finally escaping from the Keys. Things developed between us and it was a go, they were interested. Now all I had to do was stay drunk enough to actually go through with it. OH GOD! What have I done? Bring on the beer quick, before I change my mind!

Now, it’s been over a year since I arrived in the Keys. Fantasy Fest is in full swing and the crowd is freaking crazy. Everyone is doing private things in Public places. Many are naked but for body paint that looks like clothing. There are people having sex in many places out in the open. There are people everywhere drinking alcohol and smoking dope. There are people who have brought their children.

Amazed at what I am witnessing, I fight my way through the crowd to find a place to clean up. My eyes meet with the eyes with a man who has a jar in his hand. He quickly waves me closer and dumps some marijuana in my hand from the jar, telling me to enjoy it. The smell of blueberries perfumes the air from it. This pleases me because I needed to be intoxicated for what I was about to do, bumming a rolling paper along the way.

The little old ladies are meeting me at The Bull and Whistle Bar in a short while. The Garden of Eden is upstairs- a clothing optional place. When I get to the bar, I notice that the side entrance is dimly lit with a lot of shadows between it and the store next door. The bar bathroom made it easy to roll the joint and get cleaned up in because everyone was too interested in what was going on around them to take time to use it until they had to. Exiting the bathroom, I went to the shadows to smoke my weed.

As I finished smoking and pitched the roach, a cop car stopped at a gob of people about forty yards away. The officer got out of the car and looked around. He was looking for something, turning his head my way as I exhaled the last puff of smoke I held in my lungs. Then I turned to go back into The Bull and Whistle but he yelled for me to come his way, so I did. In the end he arrested me for possession of Marijuana, saying that he saw me blow out marijuana smoke from where he stood, and that he could smell it in the air. I had to laugh, like I was the one person who had smoked weed that night and he was out trying to sniff me out. There are sixty thousand people in Key West during this festival, very many smoking pot but I am the one he comes looking for.

Well, luckily for him, he had a roach he kept in his pocket for just such an occasion- evidence for whomever they want to take in. Moments later I found myself right back in the very same jail cell for the third time. It was just like everyone else that I saw get out and come right back within days. Catch and release, catch and release, catch… big money. It was purely madness.

Even my P.D. laughed when I explained the situation of the charge but it didn’t change the fact that I would be sitting in jail for another length of time. By now I am emotionally numb. Life has pretty much ended for me. I was happy if I woke up the next morning but for what, I don’t really know. Prosecuted on another charge got me forty-five more days, much to my dismay. But what I got out of that was more information.

"Shattered" from "Escaping The Despondent Sea"

My walk back to Sean and his girlfriend’s apartment gave me time to think about the words from the Prophet of Cow Key Bridge. 

It also gave me plenty of things to observe along the way. 

My hope was for some contrast but I observed much to support what I had just been told. Even still, I had the mindset that I could find work to make the money I came for, and then some. 

If nothing else, I would be able to sell, what tools I now had here, to buy a bus ticket home, since Julie, did me such a huge favor by bringing me a bunch of crap that should never have been brought. 

The stuff she dropped off at Sean’s was just about every single thing I possessed, things like Danny’s guitar, Four Track recorder, my prototypes of the Dice sculptures I had made for a desktop pencil caddy, air compressor and all sorts of tools and things that I needed a truck to cart around.

 God bless her pointed little head.

When I got back to the apartment, Sean’s girlfriend explained that she and Sean had broken up. She was moving to the mainland near Jacksonville but I could stay there until she moved out. 

Sean had come home, in the wee hours of the morning, with a white crust in his nostrils. Assuming he had been screwing around after the bars shut down, (unless he was doing a third shift drywall job) with another woman and drugs, she threw him out. Her generosity included buying me a cell phone to use while trying to find a job- a means of receiving communication from any prospective employers, since mine was now lost in the shuffle.

In the meantime, I had been dragging my tools and air compressor all over the island hoping to be able to sell them to a pawn shop but the pawn shops were filled to the gills, revealing the history of people who spent what little they had to come to the Keys with, hoping to find work. 

They left what little they had left in life there in order to go back to where they had come from. 

And those are just the people who were lucky enough to make it out with their lives. 

It sounds like a bit of an exaggeration, I know, and wish it were, but I swear on the lives of everyone I share love with that it’s the truth. 

I witnessed it and almost lost my life as well. 

I was beside myself in shock that Julie had dumped me to be with a junkie. I was enraged that I fell into Andy’s scheme, and that I failed to remember that he was no good. 

How could one man be so stupid, so consistently, as I had been?

My brain worked rationally long enough to realize my wisest decision would be to find a Community Mental Health office.  

By now, Sean’s ex-girlfriend had moved out. I was sleeping in Sean’s Oldsmobile that was left in the parking lot at the apartment complex. 

Before she moved out, I set up an account on an Internet social network. It was my hope to make some friends in the area that could help me. 

It made sense to use every avenue I could to find a solution. What I found only added to the problem, which happened to be three women who were friends of Julie and Casey- area witches who were always in communication by computer with them.

When they had me over for dinner, which was everything mushrooms, a lot of hints came out in the open. 

Everyone who knew me knew that I couldn’t eat mushrooms. They added comments about “other” people, conveying things that went on in the past with Julie and Casey.

They suddenly vanished shortly after we started hanging out, removing all traces of our “friendship” on the computer.

My days were now being spent getting to know the area. Internet access was found at a K-Mart and the local public library. 

The K-Mart thing was new, an effort to help bring in a larger customer base but when they found "the boat people and homeless" to be the ones using the computers the most, they began organizing “technical difficulties”. 

There was a huge war on the island between the haves and have-nots. 

The majority are individuals suffering from addiction and poverty, casualties in the game of consumerism- the scrambling to give us an income, only to target us to take the money back. 

Consumerism makes us work more to have more to spend, making us need and want more of everything, while what we really need becomes neglected and unimportant. 

Eventually these people become unheard of or from.

Among my thoughts about what I was seeing, I remembered Danny saying that we’d live on a boat. 

“Yeah, that’s what I’ll do”, I thought. Having a boat to hide on would be better than having to keep walking around for fear of being arrested for vagrancy, and I could find someone else who’s been trapped here that can sail the vessel.

 With a Captain, we’ll make our way up the coast, up the Saint Lawrence River, into the Great Lakes and up the Grand River- RIGHT BACK HOME! 

It’s “easy-peazy”, as Danny would say. Now all I had to do was find a boat. And since a hurricane was just through the area, there should be sailboats all over for free or next to nothing. 

It doesn’t matter what it looks like. It has to float, that’s all.

Hoping for a break, I put my ear to the vine.

My feet found the local CMH office, where I was reunited with my medications that I had been prescribed back home.

The guy I spoke with seemed genuine, giving me a camouflage Velcro wallet that he had just picked up at a flea market, after I mentioned how I lost my wallet in the process of the moped being impounded. 

He directed me to some shelters in the area that also served hot meals, explaining that one was a men’s shelter where I might find a room to get back on my feet. 

All I needed to do was find a job within two weeks. 

He also gave me the address of an employment center that housed the Department of Human Services, suggesting that I apply for assistance and build a resume for the talent bank. 

All of these bits of information were uplifting. My confidence in him soon built to what felt like a comfortable level of trust and friendship. 

With a smile and a renewed spring in my step, I set off for these locations.

When I came out of the building, I had food stamps, Medicaid, and a resume in the Talent Bank that I also submitted to several employment prospects. 

Finding a bench, I sat down to get my head together, deciding on what to do next. A man was already sitting there smoking a cigarette while waiting for his wife. He gave me one, and we talked about how we both played the Harmonica.

This man and his wife were both homeless, living in a van that was parked somewhere.

 There was work on Stock Island, at the crab shacks and on fishing boats. He told me I would find some work there. 

There was also a place called Anchors Away, an A.A. meeting place. 

The only problem is that you have to walk by every bar, liquor store, drug addict and dope house in the damn city to get to it. 

Little did I know, he and his wife were both Crack addicted, and I found myself right in the middle of some kind of drug transaction that I wanted nothing to do with.

I started going to Anchors Away that night for the six-thirty meeting, and then attended every night, hoping someone would see me in my struggle to do good for myself, that would help me to get back home somehow. 

So many people had ulterior motives that I couldn’t blame any of the A.A. patrons for shutting strangers out. 

It was not as fruitful as I had hoped, and I never received much by the way of an opportunity but I did receive a kind word and a few dollars.

The men’s shelter served a mid-day meal, so I made it a point to find my way there to get acquainted with how things worked, and whether there was an opportunity for a place to stay there.

 Eventually, I got to speak with the man who ran the shelter. He reminded me of Danny in so many ways. He was a musician with lots of equipment and guitars. 

A Golden Retriever named Bailey was his companion, the two of them making for a jovial pair. 

The fact that he was so unintimidating in appearance and nature, made me at ease. 

He took me in with the prerequisites that I get a job and stay clean of drugs, alcohol and filth. This provided a huge relief for me.

Soon after moving in, I found that he and the man from the CMH office were friends. 

One night I was called into the end of the building that he was occupying. There was some paperwork that I needed to fill out, along with some further interviewing questions about my background that he thought of. 

Oddly enough, a television was on in the room where they were watching Porn together at the time. I thought that it was strange that two men would be watching porn together but didn’t really take interest in what they had going on or why.

The next day, I received my general scope of responsibilities, which was to police the grounds for trash every day, and to mop the bathroom and laundry area. 

The day I began my duties, the facilitator decided that it was a good time for him to shower, coming in and stripping down as he tried to engage me in a seemingly innocent conversation while I worked. 

Quickly, I became uncomfortable but continued mopping, while minimizing my interaction, and avoiding his insistence to impede upon my ocular sense. 

When I refused to glance his way, he became hostile and short- no pun intended. 

It started to sink in, after awhile, and I realized it was weird, that he pointed out where his bed was, and how he made references to Cheetos stains on his penis from snacking and masturbating. 

It finally dawned on me that I had been selected as a playmate, preying on my situation and my medical history.  

Shocked that I had been set up to be victimized by the guy from the CMH office, the images of the two of them running some kind of freak show became more real. 

The shelter started to show that it was nothing more than a roach motel. Well, I was definitely checking out as soon as possible.

It happened to be Sunday when I decided to check out Stock Island for work but I don’t think I knew that, since I rarely know what day it is. 

The island environment has that affect on a person. 

The choice was to wander around to find work or stay in the trap. 

Anyway, the fishing doesn’t stop until the season does, unlike regular employment that generally doesn’t work on that day or so I told myself.

 The fish houses were open but I was told that there was no work and sent to another place where I might find a job. 

It wasn’t long before I had been all over the place, coming up with nothing but another dead end. 

Stopping a High-Low driver, he sent me to a salvage yard where boats were scrapped, saying that there are always people working on boats. 

My feet couldn’t get me there fast enough. The day was nearing six pm. 

After going into the office of the yard, I was sent to the end of the lot to see if there might be a boat owner around who may need help.

 I doubted anyone was going to be around or willing to get off of a few dollars but I made a last stitch effort to fulfill my mission for the day. 

When I got to the end of the yard full of boats in dry dock, I found an expensive looking vehicle parked next to an old Shrimp boat and a very large tourist fishing cruiser.

There were two older gentlemen working on the keel of the Shrimp boat with some body filler and fiberglass. 

One of them asked me if I knew how to work with the body filler, asking me to prove it by mixing some up and applying it, which I promptly did.

 They hired me on the spot and I worked the rest of the day. They laughed at my sales pitch, saying that I was willing to work for the first week at no charge.

The job was cash, and I was tickled- elated. Now, I was getting to do something I had never done, and I was filled with hope that I would recover from my mission at getting the money I came to the area to get. 

The first money I received was taken to a bank where I immediately started an account.

Eventually, I found out that these guys were all ex-cons, and the boats were distressed vessels that had been sunk. 

They had no value what-so ever but these guys were making them look like they were safe by patching them up in any way they could, asking me if I had ever seen M.A.S.H.- mentioning the phrase “meatball surgery”. 

They were brokering the junk for the scrap yard to sell to people who wanted to use them “one last time”. 

It didn’t matter all that much to me, I had my own problems to handle. 

Their con job was a bit alarming but meant little to me, that is, until two strangers started snooping around.

Instincts told me they were investigators, and when the guys came around that I worked for, they also said that they were detectives. 

That’s when they brought in a third man, also an ex-con, who put me to work on his Dive boat, a Manta, once the boats we had been working on were done. This was another D.V. that he intended on taking across the gulf to Honduras. 

He mentioned that I could go with him, illustrating the scenario of the adventure with all the seductive trimmings.

The idea was that the boat was going to be turned into a dwelling that he would use to go take his son from a Honduran woman he had been married to, and then disappear with his son, who would live on the boat with him. 

Lots of red flags went up in my head. I played along with him, seeming to entertain the idea for myself in order to keep the money flowing until I was to be done with him. 

Soon it was revealed to me that he was another person in the grip of cocaine addiction.

 Now it made sense when I recalled the guys I worked for talking about their associate getting hung up on the rocks. I thought that they meant with his boat.

 A short while later I was told, by the original guy that hired me, that the company was being “run out of the area”, and that I could meet up with them in Alabama to continue working. 

There was no way I was going to take them up on that. I had eight or nine hundred dollars saved up, and that was enough to get me out of there and back to Michigan. 

It was short of my goal but what was I going to do? 

The day they left the area, I had them take me to the bank at lunch to close my account and cash the last check. 

They paid me for the rest of the day before they left to head back to the mainland at two o’clock. My work was to last until six p.m. that day.

When I returned to the yard, I had all my money in my wallet. The plan was to finish the day, get paid from the Manta job, and go to the bus station in the morning, cutting my losses.

About sunset, I headed for the shelter to pack up what little I had left of my possessions. Passing by a small road through the mangroves that had been blockaded with a pile of broken concrete, I was stopped by a young woman who asked me for a light. 

This was a place where I had seen and avoided people who hung out there drinking, and who knows what else. 

Subconsciously, I could feel fear of the area but today, with a pocket full of money, and filled with the joy that I was getting out of the Keys, I decided to be friendly- giving her a lighter to use. “Keep it.” I said to her.

She asked me a series of questions typical of acquainting one’s self, which I was happy to answer. And since I was starving for attention, I soaked it up. 

Then she asked me if I had any dope, to which I answered no but that I was leaving in the morning and would love to have a puff. 

Pulling a brass pipe from her pocket, and holding it to my lips, she lit it and I smoked from it. The taste was strange, like vanilla.

The next thing I knew, I was sitting in the mud without my pants. My red duffle bag that held my meds and personal belongings was missing and so was my wallet. 

It was pitch black out and Mangroves surrounded me. In a panic, I stumbled around looking for my things- my pants, anything. 

The Moonlight penetrated the thick overhead vegetation in few spots but I made out a trail, stumbling franticly through the Mangroves, muck and trash.

Struggling for what seemed like forever, I found another pile of concrete near the edge of a road. 

Exhausted, I sat on the cement pile to catch my breath and think. 

At some point I looked around the pile, my eyes catching a spot where the moonlight glowed on the rubble. 

There, on the broken concrete, was my Camo wallet. 

Happiness was but for a moment when I realized that the money was gone. 

Of course it was. In tears, I searched through the pockets inside, hoping to see a stash of cash through my watering eyes but all I could find were business cards and some receipts that I had been accumulating to tell a story of their own. 

As I pulled them out, sadly lamenting the loss, I found a Bill enfolded in the receipts- a One-Hundred Dollar Bill. 

This single bill made me so happy that I forget I am sitting there in my underwear, or that my bag, filled with some very important things, is gone.

Determined to find this girl to get my stuff back, I set off down the road- a road I was not familiar with at all. 

A group of four or five young men are walking toward me on the road, commenting: “Nice pants.” as they pass by. 

It’s then that I realize I am now walking around in my underwear and a t-shirt in public but I am so mad that I insist on passing it off as swim wear. They, of course, have no idea who I am asking about.

It seemed like I had been walking for miles and miles, and maybe I had ,by the time I found my way back to where it all started. 

My bike was the first thing I found to have disappeared. Going in to the Mangroves, I was happy to find my bag. Further in, I located my pants. 

The losses were: one bike, one phone, my dignity, and all the money but for the hundred bucks. 

It was an absolute travesty. It’s so cliché to say, “I’ve never been more humiliated,” but I hadn’t ever been more humiliated.

 And the strange thing is, just when you think that, you discover that you CAN be more humiliated, which I was about to find out.

Still, determined to find this woman, I stomp off down the road of fools to find a group of guys in front of a two-story house but I am so angry that I storm right past them. 

They were asking something that I assumed to be an attempt to sell dope, so I ignored them. Then it dawns on me that they may know, or have seen, this girl.

Turning around to go back and ask them was somewhat pointless. They weren’t going to tell me anything I wanted to know but I tried anyway. 

As I am standing there with them to make my inquiry, flashlights, assault rifles and a whole squad of goons grabbed me and rolled me up in a wad. 

They cuffed me, taking my wallet and removing the last bank note I had been lucky enough to retain, threw me in the back of a paddy wagon with two other guys, and then hauled us off to jail.

The officer had commented on his keeping my money, and they would be charging me with soliciting to sell cocaine. 

Certain I was going to be found innocent, I worried little about it. In a while I would see a judge, explain the whole incident, and I’d be on my way to Michigan.

Several “continuances” later, I demanded to speak directly to the judge. My “Public Defender” said it was a pretty gutsy move on my part, explaining that it was a Felony charge, and that there was digital video evidence. 

Well, conveniently enough, all the evidence against me had been lost. 

My council did nothing to provide a rigorous pursuit of defense. He did not motion to have the case dismissed.

When I went to court to be heard, the judge said how he couldn’t believe that I was in such denial of my drug problem, sentencing me right then and there to a day short of a year in jail, which stuck me with a year of probation that wasn’t transferable. 

This kept me in their little system, which made it extremely unlikely that I would get out. The routine was to violate people just before it was over- another part of the scam on the funding for programs.

 One way or another, I was going to pay for my time spent in the Keys. This shattered me.

Thanks For Reading- zachery polk @bandanbro\twitter