The Wanderer by josh wood

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Action and Adventure  |  House: Booksie Classic
Its about a guy who doesnt give a fuck about life any more. Imagine waking up one day and throwing your blue coller in the trash and walking out into life with just the close on your back hitchin a ride to where ever you can go and flippin the coin on life and do a complete 180 and now become part of the scum that bathes at the bottom of our social pool. Thats what this story is in a nut shell its about the personel enguish of a guy who no longer gives a fuck.

Submitted: June 24, 2009

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Submitted: June 24, 2009



He reached up and grabbed the donor application off the counter. all these plasma where alike. They all required the same thing a photo ID. It didnt matter what state it was from as long as it was a goverment ID, with a picture and a name. They also wanted a piece of mail letting them know your residence. Some wanted a phone number, you could get that the same as the mail. Just contact the local operator and find some one with the same name as you. They'd give you the number free of charge most of the time. Shit even some times they will be willing to connect you to em. Then all you had to do was tell em your selling some wonderful item they needed and out comes a credit card number and address. It works alot easier fi you got one of the common names like smith, young, anderson or cook. After a few months on the road you'll figure this out. You'll change your name. Pick up a new identity. It's harder for cops to bust you with one of those common names as well. Maybe one of these times you will stumble acrost a social security card or some mail with the persons number on it, then you'll become them for a few cities never staying long enough to draw to much attention. Cuase once the feds get your sent its hard to lose em.

After you choose a life on the road you'll find your self moving from one dive bar to the next never surfacing to much or letting your name get known. Cuase some one will eventually know it weather threw stories from a friend maybe from thier own travels. Then word spreads and then the bagman comes a lookin. Thats why you always got to be on the move you'll have burnt to many bridges as you travel forgeting times and places you have been wandering. You'll learn that life you used to live was set from start to finish. Thats why you stepped from the path and picked up this life style. Where nothings free and no one hands you down nothing. You'll pick up a guy from time to time and do what it takes to get the money for the next trip. You'll find your self in another donor place wehater it be plasma centers or a blood bank cause you carry rare antigens their willing to pay more for it. Alone be it you find your self in the local androlisis department blowing a load of your sacred juice in a cup. for whatever sick things they need human sperm for but you dont care, that fifty bucks will buy your lunch. And your next tank of gas to get you out of here. you'll need to learn where the works at. The kind that pays in cash. You got to be willing to use your hands. Even your back. This aint the life style for the weak of heart. Some time you'll even have to get them dirty and the stuff that gets on em dont wash off. It'll be sticky and smell of copper. You'll need a strong stomach. Be willing to sleep in the worst kind of streets. Deal with the weather. No matter the condition know you cant afford a hotel get used to sleepin under cardboard.

These where just some of the things he said to me as we traveled down I-90. He had asked where I was going I told him id see when we got thier. He'd asked me where I was from. I told him its been so long since I been thier I dont even remember. He looked at my green duffel bag as he stuck it in the trunk next to the girl.

We talked about the service he'd done his time to. It hadnt been for him either. We both decided the commercials lied. He invited me on the road with him. Said their was always room for a copilot. Some one to watch his back. He told me he would teach me the ways.

That had been three years or more now traveling from city to city. As for the girl in the trunkthat had been my initiation into this life with the end of hers was the start of mine. We left her in the desert for the coyotes to munch on after I had put two in her head. Turned out she'd been some stripper who took a lap dance to far and tryed robbin him in the VIP room. You cant step into this world unless you know the rules.

We dont steal from our own. You'll know another wanderer by the way they talk and the scars of a good enough life. It aint a great life but its a good enough life. You dont deal with drugs. You'll only end up face down in a gutter that way. You live by your word. Its your bond, its who you are. He taught me to take what I needed but not anymore. Told me never be greedy or the bagman will come for you. A bagman's a collector. He deals in gettin his hands dirty for those are afraid to get thier hands dirty. They always come and they wont stop till they get what is thiers.

He taught me the way of the stick man. How to get things for free. His dad had been a stick man, always conning some one out of something. Conned the wronge thing out outta some one and one day ended up eating both barrels of a twelve guage. Said they had to finger print him just to figure out his name. Thier wasnt anything left to do dental with.

He taught me the way of the gun. What kind of jobs were worth the risk and where to find them. Never do armored cars he said. You will always get caught. What kind of people worth crossing and what kind will double cross you. He always told me to make sure the juice was worth the squeeze.

We had stayed up countless nights learning to play cards. He tuaght me when to bet and wehn not to. It had been two weeks and three citys since I had found the van riddled with gun shots and his face smeared acrost the dash. He had gone to sell some stolen televisions in the slums of old chicago. We had lifted em from a warehouse a few nights before. He had been in the wronge area at the wronge time. Thier had been a turf war between rival gangs. He had fit the bill of one of the rival gang bangers.

Once you have been doing this long enough you'll learn that every city's got some one who is in charge of everthing. He's the guy you got to kick up to for doing what you do on his turf. This was how i found out about my partner. He'd given me an address and permission to settle the debt. My kind always been worth more on the social latter to these guys. Where always willing to do more for less and we always collect what were owed.

When I found him he was a young kid Darker than a moonless night. I laid him to rest on the street infront of his mothers house.In front of his friends houses next. I told em never kick a tiger in the ass if you werent willin to deal with the teeth.I had left with in a hour with a long bag and all the clothes on my back. I had caught the first bus out of that shite hole.

Chapter 2

i set down in a chair lookin at the blank application. I quickly filled my name out and the rest of the information. They would give twenty five dollars for first time donors. It took two hours and they had a pint of plasma. The phlabotomist who had stuck me had been a cute chick. She'd gave me her number and told me to meet her here after work. If I'd gotton lucky it would give me a place to crash and a warm bed to sleep in.

I walked outside and clibed in the mustang I'd found in the last town. If your ever lookin for a ride for cheap the local junk yard is the place to go. Just find a vehicle you would enjoy drivin. It doesnt matter what it looks like what it looks like. your not actually gonna ever drive that car. you just need the tags from it and the tittle under the desk. They will be more than happy to sell you what ever you want out of thier yard. Just make sure its one of the old junk yards and non of that new age pick and pull bullshit where they want to charge you twenty bucks to walk in and twittle your dick while you look around for parts and thier aint even shit you need in their. You know the kind with the guy behind the counter with the guy that looks like hes been doing this job for half a century. Thier are four plates one under the hood in each front door and one on the dash. once you get em. slide the guy two bills and he will hand you over the title. If your a smooth enough talker you may just get the guy to crush whats left of the car for you. melt it for scrap. let him keep the money for the melting the car. If he thinks thiers something for him in it hes more likely to do it for you and he dont even know you got the vin plates off the car. Now all you got to do is steal a car swap the VIN numbers and register it and its yours. This is how i got the sixty six fastback. it had been sittin in some ones yard with a car cover all these old cars are so worn down the ignition will take almost any key and if not. you got your trusty gerber and red goes with green. Its easier if its a standard. jam a screwdriver in the ignition and break the lock then push it down the road and jumo in and drop the clutch into gear and itll start right up.

Then order the part at your local parts store to fix the ignition. then you either pay or run out of the store with it either way you got a new car for under five hundred dollars.

The plasma center closed at seven this gave me a few hours. seeing as it was only two plenty of time for me to make some quick cash the hard way and get cleaned up for a night on the town. The easist way yo make money in a big town with out slinging dope or drawing attention to you has got to be returning unwanted items. sounds easy but its not theirs more to it. sometimes youll get a bitch who wants a story about why you dont need it, during christmas. this is the easist by far way to get money but after youve returned enough shit you get the hang of whats easy to bring back to what store and what shit just going to be a headache.

after you decided what item your going to return. This is after you have successfully brought the said item into your custidy. When looking at the sales assistant behind the counter. This is the fucking hard part, you got to be able to judge a persons character. Your looking for that single older mom or battered house wife whos husband who made her take back everything that he thought she didnt need on birthdays and christmas and so forth. So he could get more money for booze and the tittie club. The single mom she had to worry about feeding junior the basterd child she got stuck with after the head quarter back fucked her and left her half consious with cum dripping from her twat, at the last senior party. Regreating the decisions that she has made as a youth and now sacrificing everything nice she ever got so the ungreatful fuck of a child she has doesnt starve. These are the people you want to return items to. They have been where your at, trying to take something back so that life will be a little easier for em. Then they get to the desk and theirs that seventeen year old high school cunt whos been fucking breast feed by mommy and daddy her whole fuckin life and dont know what a hard days work or suffering really is. They think sufferings thier phones losen connection or they aint got enough money to take that fucking hiking trip threw the swiss alps in europe or a cruise to the bahamamas. This is the cunt whos line you want to avoid cause all this bitch is going to do is cause you problems. This whole process should take you less than two hours to earn yourself an easy five hundred bucks. The easist items to returen are from large hardware stores.

Well I picked up a few voltage regulators slid them into the inside of my long jacket. They usualy dont tag items like this with security devices due to the fact that your average thier is a fourteen to twenty year old who is stealing stuff to make a pipe so they can get fucked up. after departing the store head to the next local hardware store return one or two of the prozes and then to the next store till I have returned all the merchandise. by now its almost time to head back and get the plasma chic.


© Copyright 2017 Joshua Wood. All rights reserved.

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