I sold Truck House, and now I have one less thing to think about. I slept in it one last time in the northern keys somewhere below Key Largo. I got at least 7 hours of sleep. Not bad at all! That thing I was sleeping on in Truck House is more comfortable than the fold out bed in the van. I hafta get someone with some real-man tools to help me get that bastard removed and into a dumpster. The Truck House bed, though comfortable, had to be included in the sale. No way I'm Greyhounding it all the way back.
My City Bike was stolen. If anyone in Key West sees a cheesy green-metallic Diamondback mountain bike with 3-speed-style handlebars and a big yellow milk crate on back: shoot the rider. I leaned it on a wall, got in the van to change for work, came out: it was gone. 2 mins. 4:15pm on a tiny, almost invisible side street. Fuck you.
I'm at a library in Del Ray Beach. That's near Boca Raton. I lived in Boca Raton for 8 months in a past life. I ghosted over to Einstein Bros Bagels, and had a spiritual moment with the same food and free refill that I got regularly 2 winters ago. I'm about 5 years older now. It was a pleasant stop to reflect and read The Red Pony for a little bit. That's not a crappy story if you're not in 6th grade - and Steinbeck is great. Evidence: Tortilla Flat. Like a less sarcastic Salinger. But descriptive and amusing.
I don't know where my heart is. I know it's in my chest, but I don't know where it ought to really be. Home is Pennsylvania, but I'm not going there yet. My heart is not in Key West: but I'm happy and warm there while I figure out this puzzle. Right now my heart is getting a cheeseburger across the street. Then we'll resume our dialog when we catch the bus.