“There seems to be a general decline in the “effimacaciousness” of this blog,” Floyd observed–stroking his chin.

“How you figure?”  I answered his question with a question.

“He who answers a question with a question is a fool,”  Floyd replied.

“Will you get to the point and knock off the pseudo-intellectual shtick.”

“You’re first and foremost, an imaginary character that exists only in my mind.  If it wasn’t for me you wouldn’t be here.”

“Did I hurt your feelings?  Don’t get your shorts in a bunch.  Just listen.”

Floyd was attired for summer–bib overalls and slouchy railroad engineer’s cap.  At least this time he had on a t-shirt.  Customary brown chewing tobacco spittle stained the corners of his mouth.  He expounded homespun philosophy with one foot on the front bumper of his light blue Ford pickup.

“All I was trying to say–is you need to lighten things up a bit,” Floyd answered.  “Most people get &^*$%# tired of hearing the same negative @#%!&^ day after day.”  I failed to mention that Floyd’s vocabulary would make longshoremen blush.

“I glad to see you turned out smarter than your buddy Larry.  He’s “purt near” broke with three ex-wives.  Hasn’t got a pot to (*#$@ in.  He should have had enough &^*%$#%@ sense to quit after wife number two.”

I hadn’t thought about Floyd for a long time.  Something about unshaven, sweaty men in bibs I’d rather avoid–as a general rule.  He was a memorable character.  If one looked past the disheveled, gruff exterior–he always gave good advice.

Author: warturoadam77p

70 year old married retired communications worker with three grown children, transplanted from the Midwest to the sunny Gulf Coast.


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