As was the subject of my yarn today whose biggest worry was simply where a certain amazing smell was coming from as he sat on a bench in town.
But first let me backtrack a little.
There I am working hard to make a crust and I've gone to a house down a long driveway with two or three other houses along the way.
After conducting my business I'm walking back up the driveway and I'm met by another resident walking slowly back down. And we get chatting.
It turns out he's in his late 80s and had recently lost his wife. Yes, he was sad - they'd been together a long time – but he was determined, he said, to honour her memory by getting out and doing stuff.
I immediately liked this bloke. And talk about excited chatter. Those who know me will attest to the fact I like to yak. This guy put me in the shade. It would become obvious to me why much later.
It turns out that day he'd decided to take the bus to town. Just for something different to do.
He'd spent a couple of hours wandering around enjoying the sights and sounds and was sitting on a nearby bench pondering his next move when a memory-provoking smell wafted his way.
'It was a hamburger," he told me as we stood in the driveway. "I thought 'bugger it. I haven't had a hamburger for years so why not?'."
Fifteen minutes later he was back on the same bench enjoying a freshly made and purchased cheeseburger.
Now here's where the story gets interesting.
Out of nowhere comes a fellow my new mate, perhaps confirming his age group, describes as a "hobo". And he asks for money.
Our Hero refuses and carries on eating.
Unfortunately, the new arrival sits on the other end of the bench and continues his demands, which are continually rebuffed. After a while he changes tack and demands half of the aforementioned cheeseburger.
"I wasn't scared," Our Hero tells me, "just a bit frustrated he was spoiling my day but I figured 'oh well' and broke a bit off what was left and gave it to him."
His appetite satisfied, the newcomer then promptly fell asleep.
"Just like that," Our Hero explained. "He gulped the last bit down and next second he was snoring away."
It was then things got even stranger.
"Another hobo came out of nowhere and started shaking him, trying to wake him up and eventually he did and he pulled out one of those weed cigarettes."
Now at this stage, standing there in the driveway, I was fully engrossed in the story but I had to double-check I'd heard what I'd just heard correctly.
"Weed cigarette?" I queried.
"Yep. Waccy baccy. Right there on the bench in the middle of town," he replied.
I stifled a smile, remembering other times I'd heard cannabis described as "waccy baccy", mostly from those of a certain era, like my dad.
The story continued.
"So, there we were. The three of us sitting there on the bench. Me finishing the last bit of my cheeseburger and these two hobos smoking a weed cigarette next to me".
The image I conjured up in my mind caused me to smile.
I nearly wet myself when he carried on.
"And then they offered me a puff! I thought 'That's very kind of them. Why not?' So I did."
So now you've got three people, two "hobos" and a smartly dressed octogenarian sitting there passing a joint back and forth on a bench in town.
I'd have given anything to have gotten a photo of that. The absurdity of the situation appeals to me.
As did the fact Our Hero was very much living for the day. You can keep your Covid and your overseas war. What mattered to him was a cheeseburger he shared with two hobos who were decent enough to share what little they had back with him.
Eventually, our shared laughter drew to a close and it was time to go our separate ways. As my new friend started to walk away I suddenly wondered how he'd managed to get home.
His reply came with another laugh that suggested this had been one of the more enjoyable experiences he'd had in a long time.
"I've absolutely no idea!" he said as he went on his merry way.
