Before I even got bored of standing there:  I saw a wave from another hitchhiker – headed the other ways toward a funeral – toward the top of the on ramp to the TransCanada, where I was considering to be a better vantage for hitching.  I nodded, “Yeah, I probably will have a better chance there” and turned, only to find a truck already stopped.

“I’VE BEEN DRIVING SINCE 12 LAST NIGHT AND I NEED SOMEONE TO RAP WITH SO I CAN MAKE IT TO SASKATOON BY THIS AFTERNOON!”

“Great!”

Now conversation.  I was pretty beat from being up all night fending off the wind and rain at the Regina drive-in I slept at.  I woke up in the middle of the night (relatively speaking.  A few hours after the movies)  to thunder and lightning and I whipped the tarp out of my backpack and tied it to the fence before it started to pour.  It was then I realized I was in a patch of thistles.

I stayed on the ball with him, if not contributing much to the conversation, I was at least able to follow what he was saying and he was in no way short on filling the space I left him.  He had a fairly confusing web of ex-wives, girl-friends and “future” wives.  He was headed to Malta at some point, either to see his daughter  or ex or with his girlfriend or to meet a girl or something like that.  He had a daughter my age but his hair was still fully red.

I told him how I spent my time in Regina with these two English chicks and an Aussie girl and he was shocked and saddened that I didn’t sleep with any of them.  Making these fleeting acquaintances more intimate seems a little pointless and inappropriate.  I’m just having a good time.

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