November 22

I drove to a cheap motel in Austin for the night.  I began traveling around, with really no particular direction in mind.  I had not planned out my trip, so I had no cash.  I began writing checks on a checkbook from an old account that was no longer open.  I cashed a check at a grocery store after talking them into it.  I swear, I could have been a criminal mastermind if I had chosen that line of work.  I used the proceeds to buy a few things including a pair of boots.

I spent one night in San Antonio at a cheap hotel.  I walked around the streets for awhile.  It wasn’t a great part of town.  I remember seeing a couple of girls talking on the sidewalk and planned to say hi to one of them but as I approached I heard her voice.  It was a guy!  I was evidently in the gay bar district.  It was an eye opener.
I eventually worked my way north to Temple where I wrote a hot check for a .22 rifle and some ammo.  I honestly don’t remember why in the world I decided that I needed a rifle.  It’s not like my mind was working on all cylinders at this point.  I drove around with the loaded rifle on the seat next to me and decided to head to Killeen, home of Fort Hood.  I was stopped by a police officer, for speeding.  I managed to drape a coat over the rifle and actually got off with a warning.  Poor cop would have shit a brick if he had known what was going on.  I proceeded to drive around the perimeter of Killeen shooting at billboards, road signs and water towers…..while I was driving.  I attempted to rob an ATM machine by prying it open with an ice scraper.  I tried to break in to at least one automotive garage but no doors were open.  I found an unlocked newspaper rack and managed to liberate it from several dollars worth of quarters.  I was a regular one-man crime wave.

This is completely out of order, but I forgot one detail.  Some time after my first overnight runaway the mother-in-law conspired with my wife to encourage me to have a vasectomy.  We were very religious about birth control, as in we didn’t believe in it.  Even spermicide was somehow wrong in our eyes as it interfered with God’s will.  And I had never used a rubber so I’m sure the mother-in-law was envisioning being stuck with a houseful of kids.  That was actually rather insightful of her.  It somehow never occurred to us that a vasectomy was going to ‘interfere’ with God’s will a lot more than a condom would.  So I went under the knife.  It is performed with local anesthesia only.  The good doctor was all chatty, giving me a blow-by-blow of what he was doing.  I made the mistake of asking a question, so he hooked a finger under my vas deferens and pulled up a section to show me.  It looked like spaghetti and it felt like he was tugging on one of my kidneys.  I didn’t ask any more questions.
Two weeks later we found out Deeanne was pregnant.  When I left on this current trip she was nearing nine months.

Eventually I realized that it was going to be tough living this life of crime.  I sold my station wagon for cash and then bought a motorcycle.  This was purely a strategic move as it actually cleared up some cash to live off of.  I paid a week in advance at a local motel for a room with a jacuzzi.  I started hanging out at the local strip club.  My favorite dancer, the only one I really remember, was Victoria.  She was a latin beauty, with all the right curves in all the right places.  On top of that she actually talked to me, as opposed to just hitting me up for lap dances.  She showed me a kindness that she wasn’t required to and that I didn’t deserve.  I will always remember her for that.

When Victoria was dancing I loved to watch her move.  Don’t get me wrong, she had very beautiful breasts but I’m always more impressed with the ability to dance, both in time with the music and with grace and sensualness.  Victoria had all that.  One of my favorites was when she grooved to Whitesnake’s “Still of the Night.”  To this day when I hear the intro to that song I am transported back to that club watching Victoria strut to the front of the stage, whip her hair around, spin around the pole and captivate every pair of eyeballs in the joint.  One other song that reminds me of that place is Bon Jovi’s “Wanted, Dead or Alive.”  It was my song for awhile.  I was riding on a steel horse, albeit a crappy used one.

I also managed to befriend a group of tank jockeys from Fort Hood who were regulars.  They liked me so much, they introduced me to their favorite drink.  Someone bought me a round and when it was delivered I got the following instructions:  “OK, so as soon as we put it out, then you down it and chase it with the coke.  You ready?”  I didn’t understand the whole ‘put it out’ part until I saw someone bring out a lighter.  They lit my glass and a pretty blue flame danced.  They put it out with a coaster and I downed it all, spilling a little bit on my cheeks.  It was warm, but not hot on my lips.  But it burned my stomach so I chased it with the nearby rum and coke, which tasted like ice water.  A small celebration broke out and I felt like I had been inducted into a club of sorts.  A few minutes later I managed to make it to the bathroom and back without falling down and was rather proud of myself.  The last thing I remember was someone across the table looking at me over their sunglasses and giving me the “nighty-night” wave.  I smirked, and then I vaguely remember being helped into a vehicle.  I woke up later in my motel room.  They had evidently raided my pockets, figured out which motel I was at and driven me there, possibly tucking me in as well.  My pool cue and rifle were still there, and my motorcycle was in the parking lot.  What a great bunch of guys.