HomelessInLaJolla's Journal: 140228 (La Jolla, CA, 92037, war v7.129)

War in La Jolla, seventh year, one hundred and twenty-ninth entry

I recall, some over seven years ago, I was in the library here in 92037 planning my next report of peanut butter and jelly lunches. One of the library staff approached and asked of my name, if I was, and noticed that my older brother was on the telephone wishing to speak with me. I gave to her the most horrified possible look in the world and flattened myself to the ground, prostrate supplicant, unworthy of anything near to be personally addressed as any more than another dustball collecting in a crack in the basement of the library. I have no idea what course of action was taken with the telephone call after she affirmed with a microsecond smile that it would be improper for me to receive a personal telephone call, even from my older brother, at a random unscheduled point in time in the library.

Henry Wilshire won the fishing contest at the lodge again this year. Another trophy of dried out kelp for him, and that will mean that he will have a big voice in choosing the location of the Christmas party, again. Some things never change. As he tells the story he will likely attribute the win to his fish finder. I have a fish finder, I consider it to be decoration, because I have doubts that it actually works for anything and have been unable to prove it one way or another. His BBQ celebration for the tourny win always includes live speeches to laud and advertise his brand new fish finder (near every year). He is always kind enough to drop by some point before or after and secretly drop two very nice cutlets of fish for me. One of these years I will remember to save them and wait for some bread. Usually I toss them in with a bag of hot chips. Henry Wilshire, seabass extraordinaire. He really knows how to cook fish.

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