As I laid down to rest for the night, under a bridge in the middle of town, I had no worries of being discovered. I have been in this area before, and had no visitors so far. Several hours into the night, I was surprised by a stumbling soul. Drape, as I learned after a few moments of discomfort, is a mid aged man from Flagstaff. It is Halloween, October 31st, and he was out to visits where his sister was murdered. I am not sure if it was a true story, you can never trust a person who hides bottles of liquor under his coat.
” I saw a small mound as came up here, then I saw a bike. And I was like oh it’s a person!” He said with a surprised tone, “of course I just had to see who it was. Hey are you a White Boy?”
I replied with a quizzical but effective “no.” I then backed up as much as I could, but given I was still in my sleeping bag it wasn’t very far.
“Well, I’m Mexican if anything.”
“Oh man… I can’t mess with you. I’m normally rolling with a crew, but tonight all you get is The Drapester.”
He shared nothing more about the murder, and soon asked me for a couple bucks to buy another drink. I told him I didn’t have any cash, he stood up and immediately walk away.
As he was leaving my nook, he exclaimed, “You can trust Drape, I will not return. There is a wall here, it’s your spot. Go back to sleep, no one will mess with you as long as I’m around.”
I was glad he left so soon. As I moved my walking pole closer to me, I thought for a second about leaving the area. My bed roll was all set. The foam mat, ground sheet, and sleeping bag are easy to gather up, but I hesitated. Which was all it took to keep me in my bag. As I settled back into the mindset of falling to sleep, I kept my ears tuned to shifting gravel.
I slept fine, Drape didn’t return, and it was a good morning. I doubt I’ll be going back to that spot anytime soon.