Confession: Something my family out in the boonies liked to do was pick up young hitchhikers—with good intentions but the intentions involved attempts of conversion.
J was my favourite. He had a guitar strung across his back, dirty clothes, and his hair was unwashed. He’d been hopping trains across Canada. My eyes widened as I sat quietly in the back seat listening to him speak of the peaceful community he was going to build someday, away from society and most shockingly, away from God.
My family member scoffed, told him he’s wrong. I noticed not a single muscle tensed in his body. I thought he posessed some kind of magic zen from the east.
J stayed with us for a couple days. He played his guitar and sang, he joined us at a neighbouring ranch to pack firewood for some cash, and he gave me a bracelet and bright-pink guitar pick.
Sadly, I either have them packed somewhere unreachable, or I’ve truly lost them. From time to time I wish I knew where they were.
J if you ever read this, I hope shit worked out for you, man.
Sound of the day: Jesse Welles – I Ain’t Going To Hell https://youtu.be/_ozPuATFedc?si=sI6CKJ4WPh1Lql-r
365 Days of Confessions 
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