Shoes with holes. Broke. Hitchhiking. Fifty-four years old. No girlfriend. No home. No prospects for a book. Thank God I’m not weeping (which come to think about it would have made a much, much better video).
I’m Ihitchhiking in the back of an old pick-up truck from Jacksonville, Fla. to Waycross, Ga. for the Okefenokee Fair. The drivers couldn’t let me inside because of the dogs. I ran a Mardi Gras house of mirrors at the fair,