Holdover

So I went up on the balcony but it was damp and cold about eleven PM by now. There was very large canvas tent down below used as a changing area for the stage players, and I went down there to try and sleep on a bench. Laying down I heard a very loud bang of some kind outside. I looked and saw a Romeo guy tip-toe traipsing, arms wide extended across the grass and decided no sleeping here. I exited in a hurry and walked back to the bus station. Fortunately I was unaccosted on my resentful disenchanted return to the bus station and a late-night to Fort Knox.

Louisville was where I developed the propensity to like to walk around for the ambiance of the streets, the houses, the front yards, the parks. Of course no one my age would do this, so I certainly could have been taken for a pick-up, by those so inclined to that kind of wishful thinking. I got a special GI deal for a hotel room on few Saturday nights. Even went to a little town north of Cincinnati Ohio on the Greyhound bus one weekend, to visit my Grandfather, aunt and uncle, with a front seat and wide brilliant windows to gaze out front-wise the ongoing ribbon of road. I remember passing through Skylight, Ohio and walking down the little town's main-street with a dog on a roof barking at me.

Other techniques for hiding I learned, was the sort of reputation needed while a holdover, to avoid special duties like post guard duty. I became a slob. They were sticklers for spit shined shoes, polished brass, buttoned shirts stuffed in the trousers. So I scuffed my boots, dirtied up my brass, forgot to button buttons and wore my shirt partially out.

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