In a small Indiana farm town, a place where they still sell vegetables by the honor system along the roadside, there was a young man named Bill, who lived with his father. He enjoyed working on cars, busing tables at restaurants to buy tools, digging in the garden, and telling stories. Bill would say–
“It’s raining so hard, it’s like pouring piss from a boot.
His father left the fast pace of modern day suburbia for the open space freedom of a farm community, where he could grow his own vegetables and look out on his land while he smoked his pipe and waited for life to happen. He worked odd jobs to provide for his family and brought home tales of people he’d met and the things they did.
“This guy at work has a wife in the hospital, having a baby. He packed his lunch for the first time in seven years and forgot to add coffee to his hot water.”
Then Bill would say,
“It takes a real man to drink boiling water.”
Bill’s father started this family garden they called their “Victory Garden,” where they grew enough for their own needs, gave some away to friends, and sold the rest for seed money. He kept a Mason jar by the roadside with a sign about the price for each vegetable. Bill would count the money each day and was amazed they never ended up short.
Bill would say,
“It takes a helluva big dog to weigh a ton.”
There were dogs and cats that hung around, waiting for scrap food or a stroke. They’d follow Bill and he’d play games with them, wrestling them until they both got tired and would have to get a drink from the garden hose.
On Friday nights, Bill would take the car or truck he’d been fixing up and drive into town with his friends or his date. They say once Bill ate 33 hamburgers in one sitting. They also say he dated five girls in one week, but it’s not recorded anywhere. Just something they say.