Wednesday the phone never rang.

Thursday morning I picked it up and the line was dead. They had turned it off. The internet had been gone for a week or two. And it was getting cold; but the house kept me from the wind.

She had been gone for a month or so. Just looked at me one morning and said, “I didn’t know it would be this hard.” Left with her old black canvas suitcase in one hand and her pillow under her arm. It was October and it seemed like than sun hadn’t been out in at least a month.

Friday they came with the papers for the house. Three squads. Blue lights bouncing off the neighbors doors before the sun came up. I forgot about that story in the Michael Moore movie where they said make them show you proof of ownership. I was embarrassed. So I just left.

Moving into the storage locker wasn’t that bad.  It’s a 10 by 25 foot bunker. You have to wake up early before the workers get there. And sometimes I can figure out a way to get a motel room so I can get a shower. Not being able to have a shower every day. That’s really the hardest part.

Then yesterday in the Chicago Tribune. Came the story of the family in the next unit. Page one. I always knew they were there. They knew about me. But we never talked.

I knew they had a kid living there with them. But I didn’t that much till I read the story in a paper that somebody had left in the bar.

Sometimes stopping in at that bar in the morning is the only thing that gets me through the day.

I could tell you stories.

But there was this guy. Maybe you remember him. He’s gone now. Died in a car crash a long  time ago. His name was Harry Chapin. And that guy. That guy could really tell a story.

In fact one time he told a story so well, that I could swear it was my story. He’d put the stories to song. Even got on the radio.

I’ll put the words down here so you can read them if you want.

But if you really want to know the story, listen to the way he put it to music. It became something even larger. Something better.

I swear that when he sang this story, he was talking about me.

When he sang this story, I could remember.

I could remember everything.

And then when I’d go home at night. Make my way to the storage locker, pull the door shut for the night. And hear the noises of the family in the unit next door---somehow they figured out how to run a TV in there—I’d remember Harry Chapin singing.

And I’d get by.

Listen to the story. Maybe it will help you get by too.

It was an early morning bar room,
And the place just opened up.
And the little man came in so fast and
he Started at his cups.
And the broad who served the whisky
She was a big old friendly girl.
Who tried to fight her empty nights
By smilin' at the world.

And she said "Hey Bub, It's, It's been awhile
Since you been around.
Where the hell you been hidin'?
And why you look so down?"

Well the little man just sat there
like he'd never heard a sound.

The waitress she gave out with a cough,
And acting not the least put off,
She spoke once again.

She said, "I don't want to bother you,
Consider it's understood.
I know I'm not no beauty queen,
But I sure can listen good."

And the little man took his drink in his hand
And he raised it to his lips.
He took a couple of sips.
And then he told the waitress this story.

"I am the midnight watchman down at Miller's Tool and Die.
And I watch the metal rusting, I watch the time go by.
A week ago at the diner I stopped to get a bite.
And this here lovely lady she sat two seats from my right.
And Lord, Lord, Lord she was alright.

You see, she was so damned beautiful that she could warm a winter frost.
But she looked long past lonely, and well I on to lost.
Now I'm not much of a mover, or a pick-em-up easy guy,
But I decided to glide on over, and give her one good try.
And Lord, Lord, Lord she was worth a try.

Well I was "Tongued-tied like a school boy, I stammered out some words.
It did not seem to matter much, 'cause I don't think she heard.
She just looked clear on through me to a space back in my head.
It shamed me into silence, as quietly she said,
'If you want me to come with you, then that's all right with me.
Cause I know I'm going nowhere, and anywhere's a better place to be.
Anywhere's a better place to be.'

Well I drove her to my boarding house, and I took her up to my room.
And I went to turn on the only light to brighten up the gloom.
But she said, 'Please leave the light off, oh I don't mind the dark.'
And as her clothes all tumbled 'round her, I could hear my heart.
The moonlight shone upon her as she lay back in my bed.
It was the kind of scene I only had imagined in my head.
I just could not believe it, to think that she was real.
And as I tried to tell her she said 'Shhh.. I know just how you feel.
And if you want to come here with me, then that's all right with me.
'Cause I've been oh so lonely, lovin' someone is a better way to be.
anywhere's a better place to be.'

Well The morning come so swiftly I held her in my arms.
And she slept like a baby, snug and safe from harm.
I did not want to share her or dare to break the mood,
So before she woke I went out to buy us both some food.

"I came back with my paper bag, to find that she was gone.
She'd left a six word letter saying 'It's time that I moved on.'"

You know The waitress she took her bar rag, and she wiped it across her eyes. And as she spoke her voice came out as something like a sigh.
She said "I wish that I was beautiful, or that you were halfway blind.
And I wish I weren't so goddamn fat, I wish that you were mine.
And I wish that you'd come with me, when I leave for home.
For we both know all about emptiness, and livin' all alone."

And the little man, Looked at the empty glass in his hand.
And he smiled a crooked grin, He said, "I, I guess I'm out of gin.
And I know we both have been, so lonely. And if you want me to come with you, then that's all right with me. 'Cause I know I'm goin' nowhere and anywhere's a better place to be."