(Shamelessly snagged from Leonard Peltier’s page from his poem “In the Spirit of Crazy Horse” from his book Prison Writings)
I was reminded of a conversation I had with a friend a long time ago. She was a survivor of the Nose’s class; in fact, that’s where we met. She was one of those clever but clueless folks I really dig. She was late; she was always late, and, oddly enough, it was probably one of the reasons I dig her so much. In some ways, she’s very much like me.
She apologized for being late for our lunch, and told me she had stopped to get gas. While there, she had seen an RV that said “Need Gas Money” on a piece of cardboard in the window. She talked to them, found out their story, where they were headed. Finding out they had something like a 75 gallon tank, she told them that she could only afford to fill half of it. As they talk, the gas pump shows it’s over 40 gallons, and she tells them to fill it up all the way. After finding out they hadn’t eaten in three days, she bought them food and water from the gas station, enough to cover them for a couple of days, anyway.
She tells me this, not to convince me how cool she was, or how much money she had available on her Visa (Visa..pfft), but to tell me why she did it.
Lyrical Fool 