My best friend that I ever had so far is a 75 year old wandering one eyed Pakistani with an Afro and a Yankees cap.
We lived together for four years and he always was my friend. We knew the contours of each other’s personalities: our curves and edges.
People thought there was something going on between us, but we was always just good friends.
My daughter’s father and I picked him up hitch-hiking. He was wearing a leather cap then: sitting on the biggest backpack I ever seen. Me ex and I both took one look at him sitting calmly in the dust of the road and knew that we had to stop.
The first thing he saw when he got in my van was our kids. My son was four and my daughter’s half-sister was one. Then there was my daughter still in my belly.
When I met him I was trying to support a whole group of people, and when that group turned on me like rabid wolves, endangering me and my children, he was there to support us getting back on our feet.
Over the years he gave us support and structure. We gave him back love and family.
But the road called, and he was off.
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