I love small towns and the eccentric people that give them color – that’s why I write about them. Of course big cities have their unique citizens as well, but in a small town they become a hallmark, a cornerstone of entertainment.
Our town has a man that walks from sun-up to sun-down, the same route every day. Always in an interesting outfit (personally I love the fur boots and fringed vest), sometimes carrying a fishing pole or a guitar. When he has the guitar out, he’ll sit in our central park and wail at the top of his lungs. In his younger days, he rode an old banana bike through town. He’ll make his own commentary to no one as he walks along and once in a while he’ll stop on a corner and howl like a wolf. Always with a smile on his face and a glint in his eye to see who’s watching. There was a time when he carried a camera and took pictures of butts. No one seemed offended, in fact, it was a badge of honor. Okay, we may be a bit sick, but it was all in fun. Seems everyone in town keeps an eye on him and for the most part, enjoys his presence. People joke that he’ll probably have the biggest funeral this little burg has seen.
Carry on, Waldamore!