There was once an old and forgotten man.
Some might have called him homeless, but those who knew him called him
Free.
He walked down the streets of his tiny Ohio town with that same crazy light in his eyes
He had possessed when he was younger.
And it was his town, as was every town; he filled them up with his exuberance bordering on madness.
He was equal parts crazy and sane, wise and childish.
He reminded some of that one man they had known-
That slow-speaking southerner with a thousand tales to tell.
This man was that southerner, and also a northerner
And he lived on the east coast and the west as well.
He had a home everywhere and nowhere at all.
He roamed America, always happy, always
Free.
On a day not long ago, the old man sat and thought back on his life.
Thought back on when he had been young and decided that work was not for him,
That he would rather chance it on the streets.
He stood up, walked to another bench in a different part of his wonderful city, and sat down.
He pulled a banana he had pilfered earlier out of his pocket and smiled.
He smiled and laughed at the rest of them: bustling around and doing nothing worth doing. He was
Free.