The Billbago

The following story was submitted by Todd – Thank you!

So, there I was, on third shift in the prison I work in, reading GQ. The Psych Services office had been left open so I found some fresh reading material. I read about a kickball game with Bill involved, and almost fell out of the chair – I thought I was reading my story, relocated.

I forget how long ago it was, perhaps 10 or 11 years, my wife and I were camping in this small Midwestern town located on a Great Lake shore. Our tradition was to camp for 3 or 4 days, then re-locate to a nearby B&B for some quality time with showers and home cooked meals. I’d dropped my wife off at the B&B for our check-in, while I went back to camp to break it down and pack it up into the trunk of our then well-used Camry. It was a campground right on the lake, in the woods at the shoreline, and quite beautiful.

I was cramming the tent and sleeping bags into the trunk of the Camry when I hear this guy start talking to me from afar, just about 25 yards across the campground. He’s in jeans, a bucket hat of some sort holding a glass of something on the rocks, and mumbling about a preferred campsite he knows of. “…excuse me?” I respond in a somewhat surprised/taken aback tone of, “how dare you”. (He is telling me about a campsite he knows of where we’d be more comfortable and that my wife could definitely go topless if she wanted to.) I snorted and brusquely turned away to continue packing the car.

It wasn’t until later that my brain realized the well-polished Red Wing Irish Setters and the Ray-Bans belonged to Bill. The pristine restoration on the Winnebago should have been a dead giveaway too. Kudos to you Mr. Murray. See you on the road! Ciao! Love ya Brother!

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