A short story.
I wrote about the very strong discussions in two groups that I follow. I fixed both of them. I dropped out of the groups. Too much noise, no signal.
There is today’s comment. Unless you can peek behind the curtain, and really see the action, you don’t know the truth. The commenter was nice. My reply was nice. But, screw it. I’m too old for this nonsense.
Stop putting me in the box of an old white colonial man. Never put Ray in a box.
As much as I tell you, most of you don’t know me. It’s likely you never will unless we meet in real life.
Going forward, I’ll post a picture, write a feel words about it, and say good day because…
“Those who know don’t talk. Those who talk don’t know.
The picture
I’ll likely get pilloried for calling the man who picks up abandoned stuff, a junkman. This is New Orleans. That’s what he calls himself. He was picking up some other junk when I saw his trailer. I love junk. I love abandoned buildings. I had no choice but to make a photograph. We know each other. He laughed when he saw me making a picture.
Stay safe. Stay mighty. Enjoy every bowl of gumbo.
STORYTELLER 
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