Looking for Old Man Zen
He used to show up a lot, but not anymore He had a well-worn keisaku stick that I think he stole from some puffed-up enlightenment guru, which he would waggle at me facetiously. I could always count on him to be the knot at the end of my balloon. I honestly don’t know where to even start looking for him. Down on the corner by the gas station, maybe, where the kids go by on bikes with smaller kids perched on the handlebars? Wait, no, they don’t do that anymore. Under the freeway overpass next to the off ramp, where the woman with the “Anything Helps” sign used to stand? But she’s not there anymore, either. In the parking lot by the thrift store where I gave shoes to the barefoot woman? Nope, not a sign of him. In back of the bar that had bluegrass on Tuesday nights? Not even any bluegrass anymore. In a phone booth outside of 7-11? Nope, not a single phone booth left in the world. Out back of the grocery store where the dumpsters are locked to stop people from getting t...