Night Four - "A Little Teaching and A Little Learning is A Little Living"

The day wore on as I took my leave at The Red House on Poplar. I reserved myself to books and music. This time back in the Big Sky State was a little different. Not as much running around, it was more sedentary. After reading up on The Adventure of Lewis and Clark, and how they are eternally indebted to Sacajawea. There was a great feast lead by the spontaneous cookery of Drew, one of the aforementioned. It was some killer mac and cheese with bacon, onions, and peppers. It was truly gourmet. Then arrived their newest house-mate, who went by the name Easy. He was as his cognomen implied. He was a musician and songwriter as well. He had some very intricate finger picking and lyrical style. So I sat down with him to share or offer anything at all to his struggle with his next line. It turned into a great conversation of philosophizing and then one of jamming. It was a journey we both we're headed on, not sure where we were going but we knew exactly where we wanted to end up. Easy had just moved from Utah, on a prayer and a dream. He had just gotten a job as a door to door vacuum salesmen to make some cash to get his own place to get on his feet. He had every instinctual intention correct, to me at least. He wanted the suffering. He wanted Bukowski's Post Office. At least it seemed to me. Well maybe not that far removed but close. The longing, the desire, the things that make it real and the hope we turn into dreams. It's the lonesome trail that brings us there. "The difference between a poor man and a rich man is that a rich man has money", the ascetic states. "While the rich man keeps the poor man in his state," the revolutionary screams out loud. So there we sat with the candle burning at both ends into the night. We swapped war stories, swiggin' swill from hop and still. "Late to rest and early to rise", was the last thing he said that night.

The Empire Builder - Day Four "How To Turn An Acquaintance Into A Friend"

Another day, another morning. Matt and Libby went off to work. I gathered up some steam, took a shower, and then a short walk into downtown Missoula. There was a coffee-shop located in town center I remembered. Short and sweet, I got an Americano then sat down for a quick session. The timber floors creek in the mausoleum of joe ink while I sipped my drink. And just to think, to clear my head, I ended up seeking an acquaintance from the last trip I made to Montana. It was during a birthday party the boys and I were invited to play some music at. She was like me in that we both didn't know anybody that night, so I figured my instincts and intentions were right. It was by chance, again, that we would inhabit the same bean stalk graveyard. Her and I would talk and speak of the most recent past and then the most passed past. She was a rambler as well. Constantly moving and on tour. She was originally from this Valley in Montana but had moved to Kansas and back again and again. She followed her most current lover from state to state, gig to gig. Therefore it was easy to conclude that she had enough of the round about life, being a musician's wife. I would think she was trying to lay the foundations of pylons that I might tread near the thin ice of love. So carefully away we wandered from her real reason for moving to Missoula. Could it have been for the weather, the money, or the view? She told me stories of her story, wrapped in the iron blanket of a victim. Though over a short time she became warm. She told me of her family, her two best-friends who ended up meeting up independently of her, and finally of her job. She came from a small family but her parents had separated by her early teens and she set out and off to wandering shortly after. She had a few loves between then and her self-distinguished yet extinguishing dream in the guise of a life as muse to the starling. They were, in the end, really of no consequence as she tip toe danced through the Midwest. She returned to discover her two best friends, one male, one female, to be hooked in twine the mind of wayfaring lovers. They all became roommates, yet the other two were always short on rent and funds for having fun. She quickly was skeptical of them but kept it to her-self out of respect for their individualities. I think in the end this was her downfall. After nearly 2 and a half months, in the silence, they left while she was at work one day, which consisted of 12 hours of cold-calling. No money, no note, not even a trace had been left behind. It was a turn and burn. I've been witness, protagonist, and villain in situations similar to this. It's never comfortable again. Rule one of the road; always make a home no matter where you go. I mean these were her best friends. You figured since she gave them the respect she would expect then they would, by necessity, reciprocate . This time was different. She was headed off to work now but not until I informed her of my reasons in Missoula she inquired and I obliged but I gave no real indication of whether or not she should make an effort. If I showed too much interest it would probably scare her away. Well I had every intention of maintaining some sort of acknowledgement that her existence was worthy of attention yet maybe just a cup of coffee was enough. Rule one of "How To Turn An Acquaintance Into A Friend"; learn their name.