What's his story? Sometimes I see people and I wonder what their story is. I couldn't possibly know, so I make one up for them. I saw a man walking along the interstate. He was in his late 40's. He hair was various shades of grey. It was long, tossled. and pulled back into a thick pony tail. He had a long unkept beard. He was wearing a torn flannel shirt, faded dirty bluejeans and a well-worn leather vest. He carried an army green duffel bag with a red bandana tied to the strap. His story: I named him Bud,. nicknamed after his favorite beer. A couple miles behind him, sits his beloved Harley. He's headed to the nearest phone to call his longtime girlfriend, Patty. Nine years. Never married because the government makes it cheaper to be single. Even so, they don't need a license to prove their souls are destined to be together. He glances back over his shoulder every ten minutes or so. He's worries. He gets a knot in his stomach thinking about what could happen to his Harley. A car could swerve off the road and hit it. Destroyed. Someone could steal it. Loss. It had broken down 3 times in the last 4 months. He can't afford a new one. He doesn't want a new one. He lovingly calls this one Sally. He couldn't abandon her anymore than he could Patty. He makes it to a payphone. He's exhausted. He unties the red bandana from his duffel bag and wipes the sweat from his brow. He dials. Patty answers the phone and listens to his sad voice as he tells her about Sally. She tells Bud that she made great on tips last night and would have it towed to their place. He says she doesn't have to. She wants to. Bud hangs up the phone and makes himself comfortable on the cement curbing at the service station. He lights a cigarette and waits for Patty to pick him up.