Filthy had passed out in the field next to my truck. He seemed comfortable enough in the grass. He is still holding his beer upright in his hand… Instincts. His friend tried to rouse him as he was ready to return to their camp. It proved to be impossible to get any response out of him. I told his friend I would take care of him. That night we wandered about the camps at the Weiser Folk and Fiddle Contest in Weiser Idaho. Filthy was carrying his bouzouki and I was with my accordion which had seen better days… but none too good as long as I have had it. It should either be retired to some museum of bad ideas or completely overhauled. We wandered into a camp of old timers playing Saint James Infirmary. Filthy stepped up and bombarded them with bouzouki. I don’t know if what he was playing was in the right key or had any relation to the song in any way. The old timers looked at him as if he had just blasted them with Tzaziki from outer space. Then it was my turn… Toot? Toot. Toot… A couple of mandolin players joined us while we played for the taco stand. The young woman tried to figure out what key we were in. “C harmonic minor something something…” she said. I said we just play music. No rules. After Filthy passed out, I overhear a woman at the next camp talking about some guy with a cigar box guitar to a group of kids. I thought to myself, I know that guy so I dug it out and brought it over. I showed them a song I was working on and then let the children take a turn at it. They could have gone on playing it for hours without getting bored of it but the woman their announced that they were already up way passed their bed time. It has begun to drizzle. Filthy is unfazed. Out cold. Beer can safely held upright. He isn’t even wearing a shirt. Just a vest. I have seen him do this before… out in the desert outside Moab… with the monsoons coming down. Elisha and I calling him to come inside the tent but no. He lays out in the sand somewhere. A dog and his banjo. I am not worried about Filthy but I am worried about his bouzouki so I brought it in the truck. Then it starts to pour. I know I am going to have to do something now and sure enough Filthy is up crying “Cold! Cold!” I am not sure if he is awake or wandering asleep in some nightmare where the sky is falling and everything is black. He tries to pull blankets out of my truck. I push him away. “That’s my fuckin’ bed!” I put him in the cab of my truck. “I got this” I tell him. “Thank you” he says. I pull out my tent and set it up in the storm. I toss in a sleeping bag and then put Filthy in it. I am not sure how my cheap tent will weather the storm but I am confident that Filthy will survive the night. I sleep for maybe an hour or two and then I am awake. Insomnia. This sucks. I have a long drive in the morning. I worry that the sun will be up all too soon baking my truck making it impossible to sleep. Bad things happen on the road when you don’t get enough sleep. Fortunately, for me at least, it is still stormy and cold in the morning. This… will… work. I spin… out of my body… over the truck… over the camp… I am a bit woozy from the spinning but I give myself up to it. Let my body be carried up. Naked. I am far above it all. I can see the White Light. When I get closer I can see that in order for me to reach it I have to crawl through a small dark tunnel… like a drainage tunnel that runs under the highway… filled with black muck… no doubt rocks, sticks, thorns and I am to crawl through naked. That is what I have to do. That is what I am doing but today is not the day to reach the Light… to surrender to the bliss and terror of oblivion… I wake to see Filthy wandering towards the honey buckets sipping that beer he protected through the night. It is still raining so I am going to have to pack up some wet gear. The joys of outdoor living. I have been through this. I have been through all sorts of weather. Rain. Snow. Sun. It’s fine. The cloud cover will make for good driving weather.