Photo:
Grant Gunderson

See also Contest 01: Chairlift Encounter

See also Contest 02: Panic

My Friend the Flea Bag
By PHIL GALLAGHER

The whole scene resembled a hobo camp at the edge of a trash dump. Fortunately for the neighbors, the snow was deep enough to cover all the junk in the front yard, except for the rusted '53 pickup. Inside the house it was freezing because there was no heat. The water was long shut-off, so we only slept there. Everyone pissed out back in the dark and we dropped our guts at the nearby diner or the resort.

It was Sow's place. We called him "Sow" because he had no shame and was a dishpig. Sow unabashedly embraced the economy of the have-nots, a wild man gifted with audacity who elegantly walked the line between comedic performance and low-level insanity.

In the tram line Sow stood out like a freshly excavated mummy at a cocktail party. While everyone stood around in expensive one-pieces or high-tech parkas and pants, the springy-haired wonder picked up discarded cigarette butts, regarding them as golden treasures.

His wool hat was stained burgundy from the wine that Skinny Wally poured over his head at a party in Wilson. His coat was a fur-lined, hooded military parka—the kind that soldiers wore up on the "dew line"—with FTA printed on the back in magic marker. A fox pelt with black beady eyes, which he found in a garbage can, was stapled to the fur of the hood. The pants were phone-book yellow and had so much dirt and grime that he looked like a walk-off from the highway crew.

People fought for protective distance from the disheveled scavenger, a study in repulsion. Once packed into the tram, Sow became the social miscreant, the bane of propriety. He would pleasantly converse with those near him in his most charming and convivial manner, luring them into polite dialogue. Then he'd crush their senses with an onslaught of his most shocking, vile, and outrageous opinions and diatribes. He spared none.

In all my days I never met anyone who could compete with Sow for grossness, except for Gabool the Drooler—

The patroller's dog.

                                                                                        Next: number 4


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