Showing posts from January, 2015

I want to be. I wish I was. But I'm not.

I play guitar. Like music. I taught myself and I play for local churches and make money playing on the streets. Do you believe me? You can ask Erin. She knows I can play. I bet you can do something really cool too, something that I can't do. 

You play guitar? That's really cool Bubba! I'll take your word for it. Do you play for your church or something? I'd love to hear you play sometime.

Naw. I don't play for churches no more. I mean, I could but I shouldn't. They want you to be a Christian and I'm not. I like Christians. I want to be one. I wish I was one. But I'm not a Christian.

Bubba strolls in most afternoons, his untied boots clugging under him on the carpeted floor. His oversized puffy coat hangs over the edges of his shoulders. He wears a wide grin and a cigarette butt behind his ear. Do you have coffee? I like your coffee, he asks.

Knowing he's coming there's some coffee leftover from before lunch. 

What's your name again?