As sure as there’s an American dream, there’s an IV dream.
Baldo lived it to its depraved extent. He hotboxed FT. He stole booze from the local marts and hats from sorority girls. He surfed shitty IV waves and called them good. He knew most of the Foot Patrol better than their wives did. He avoided rent by sleeping on friends’ couches-and I’m talking outdoor couches.
I’d call him a transient but he bathed more often, and I’ve never seen a bum with a bowl hair cut.
Baldo is gone now, on a journey around the world. IV is left a little more respectable, while the Eastern Hemisphere should beware: a well-trained freeloader is on the loose.
Monday’s forecast: An Fijian wakes up to find someone sleeping in his outdoor hammock and utters his first English words: “Baldo-no.”