An old vet (an old friend)

Living in San Diego for the past six months has brought up a lot of memories from my past. I've driven though the area I was raised in, driven past the high school I went to and places I would hang out, met with people I haven't seen in years, and indulged in many carne asada burritos. And now, after tonight, I'm ready to say I've relived enough.

Tonight was my last Friday night out in SD and I didn't really have anything special planned. My good friend Tessa visiting from LA al0ng with two of her friends and we all decided to go downtown. We parked and walked around looking for a nice place to pop in and have a drink when all the sudden I see a man who has forever engraved himself as part of my youth.

He calls himself "The Colonel," or at least that's what he did back when he spent all of his time telling bull shit war stories at The Living Room Cafe. The man would go on for hours, and he must've had a knack for storytelling because my friends and I would all stay and listen. The Colonel would often drink vodka while sitting in the middle of the cafe. It's kind of strange in retrospect but back then it all made sense. The missing leg, the green beret, the crazy stories and the a look in his eyes, as if he were in another world. I remember he would often have a cigarette in his mouth or hand but would rarely inhale. The ash would collect at the tip and fall onto his lap.

The Colonel rode up in his motorized wheelchair (I actually remember when he bought that thing) and I quickly asked Tessa to take a picture of us with her camera phone. I asked The Colonel if a pic was okay (he didn't recognize me of course). As you can see I was very excited.



After the picture he tried to sell me tootsie roll pops and gum.