He left town a long time ago. Years now. Saw him take off in a Greyhound around two in the morning, heading to Los Angeles. I think it was Los Angeles? He was always talking about going west. I assume it was Los Angeles. Anyway. I saw him leave.

I was coming out of Pat’s when I saw the bus pull up. Snowing like a mother. Winds were high, screaming like a bitch. The sign on the top front of the Greyhound said, Los Angeles. Nice and warm, I thought. No snow. Movie stars.

And then I saw him. He was carrying a book bag. That boy was always carrying a book bag. Looked like it was stuffed with God knows what. Maybe some underwear, pants, a couple of shirts, but I bet it was mostly books. Every day, I’d see him at the library downtown, curled up in a big old chair, reading a different John Fante book every time I saw him.

Ask The Dust, was his favorite book, he said. Then he said he liked The Road To Los Angeles. I’d nod and tell him to stick to the reading. Told him it would lead him somewhere.

Me? I never read a book. Maybe that’s why I’m stuck here. Just never had the gumption to go anywhere. Especially Los Angeles, where it’s nice and warm, never snows and there’s movie stars.