Today, on the back of a pack of a (sounds like a pretty neat rap song) rolling papers I found a phone number described as ‘Digger’. No idea what’s that. No idea who’s that. So I checked the phone number on Facebook and a girl came out. No chance a girl with a lovely nick name ‘Digger’ would have given me her phone number. I would remember.
On the other hand her profile shows she’s from Raton, the place where I got stuck for the night. I had to stay in a motel (it was so cold outside! I had no more clothes to put on!), of course I got lucky there as well… I hate air-conditioning. That’s my biggers issue with the US. So the hotel had one single room 10$ cheaper because the air-conditioning was broken (by the way… dude, who uses air-conditioning when it’s freezing outside?!).
Something clicks… The Digger! King of the hobos!
The next day when I came out on the road, he appeared out of nowwhere saying I can’t take pictures of them and we started a chat. He claimed to be the king of the hobos and you know what? I believe him! He was smart, interesting, maybe a little bit crazy but his heart was good. He told me a lot about ‘how to recognize an KGB agent’. After our long and interesting talk I had to get on the road and keep on moving but before I did, Digger gave me a really nice knife. He also gave me his phone number saying I ‘should call him if I needed any legal help’. I wrote it down thinking ‘it will be trash soon anyway’ but now (when it survived so long – never used them) I am curious. I found out that there’s a girl in Raton using this phone number. I’ve already written a message to her asking some questions. I want to know the whole story!
See, after all the weird, amazing things happening to me, I really hope that this was one of them. I liked the times when they were still around constantly.
And here’s some music I’ve been listening to today: