Locomotive to the Past by George Schultz (iphone ebook reader .TXT) 📕

At that same moment, as Manny—the sainted manager, of the wondrous coffee shop—was drifting off, into his “well-deserved” Slumber-land, Joyce, the supposed waitress-in-waiting, was applying a little artwork, to the outside of his door! The recently-slammed portal! The exalted portal—to his ratty-looking/smelling apartment!

She’d had to walk two half-frozen blocks—to reach the well-lit neighborhood convenience store! But, she’d been able to find exactly the item—that she’d been looking for. She paid far too much—for that extra-large spray-can, of lustrous, shiny, bright-red enamel. It had been way too expensive—considering the fact that she was currently unemployed! Didn’t matter!

Fighting the, head-to-toe-chill-blowing-right-through-you, wind—the zephyr, which was increasing in velocity, by the second—she’d made her way back to Manny’s residential unit.

It was amazing: The minute she’d entered the building—she’d begun shaking, once again! Even more emphatically! Trembling—badly! Practically overcome—with almost-uncontrollable, flagrantly-chilled, spasms! Just this side—of out and out convulsions!

Actually, her condition was not completely—not quite totally—uncontrollable! Thank heaven!

Otherwise, she’d never have been able to summon the steadiness, to scrawl—on the outside of Manny’s door (in big, shiny, vermillion, letters)—“Fuck YOU! Piece Of Shit”!

ELEVEN

January 27, 1942.

The day was just dawning! It would be filled—to the very top—with complete and utter foreboding! This would be it! Exactly one week—after Jason’s startling arrival, in 1942! And his ever-so-fortunate, subsequent, filling of the glorious berth—at the glorious home, on glorious Sussex Street! On Detroit’s then-glorious northwest side!

Today was the day! “D-Day”—when he was going to have to face up to the dreaded, impending, crisis! The forever-present predicament—with which he’d been so hopelessly grappling! Fumbling with the problem—for the past seven days! The out and out fear! It had been forever present! The only damper—on those, oh-so-happy, days! They were happy—but, the damper was substantial!

His second week’s rent! That would be due! Due—today! On this very day! This was to be the Day of Resolution! And all he’d had—with the mind-bending exception, of those still-few coins—was that stupid ten-dollar bill! That damn Federal Reserve Note—still snuggly tucked away, in his wallet.

He’d deigned to remove it a couple of times, hoping that—through some miracle of miracles, he’d find the bill to be—a bona fide Silver Certificate. Maybe minted—in, say, 1937. (Miracles, he knew, do happen! Else, how did he ever get here—in the first place?)

Grandpa Piepczyk, he knew, had retained a few examples—of the old currency. More than a few, actually. The old man, he guessed, had always understood—that they would’ve become quite valuable.

As previously stated, Our Hero had believed that his grandfather had informed him—that the government had converted the nation’s currency, to Federal Reserve Notes, in the sixties. The old man had thought—that the big change had come during Lyndon Johnson’s administration. But then, he’d not been able to dismiss the thought that it had been the product—of Richard Nixon. So, the old man could never be quite sure, of the exact time period. None of this “wool-gathering” was the least bit helpful—to the, on-the-horns-of-a-dilemma, roomer—during that anguish-filled early morning!

Our Boy hadn’t the foggiest idea where Grandpa’s Silver Certificates might have gone—after his death. Well, he could guess! On the other hand, Grandma Piepczyk was still a pretty feisty lady, in those days! So, maybe Sheila didn’t get her hands on them. (That would be an upset, though—of monumental proportions!)

Almost afraid to look—well, definitely afraid to look—he had finally forced his gaze back down to the tenner. Yeah! It was still a damn Federal Reserve Note. And yeah—it still had been printed, in 1992. Damn!

Well, fortunately, one crisis had passed. When he’d gone to bed on Sunday night, his immediate future—had been more than a little uncertain! Not at all sure—as to whether his, oh-so-special, landlady (and, of course, her husband—who, also, was pretty neat) would continue to feed him. Well, he could not help but wonder—whether they’d continue to treat him, almost like royalty. That, of course, had been the most-satisfying aspect—up until then.

Oh, come off it Jason. Royalty? More like, maybe, a son. Possibly like a long-lost son? Something had made him wince—at that last premise! And he didn’t know why!

He’d always been aware—well aware—of the fact, that food had never been included, in the six-dollar-a-week room rent. How could he not be cognizant—of that 800 pound elephant? It was ever-present, in the room! Always had been! Well, it had—for a week!

Yet—except for that highly-unusual (actually, the pretty weird) Sunday afternoon/evening—he’d always been served, the most delicious of meals. Susan had handed him—on each and every work-morning—a lunchbox filled, with delectable sandwiches and a whole lot, of other goodies (most notably, nickel packages of those “decadent” Krun-Chee potato chips).

That wondrous, bountiful, glorious, lunchbox bequest had, thankfully, been continued—on that critical Monday! That had been the day before, the troubled Jason’s crucial rent payment was due. To be honest, the roast beef-and-gravy supper—that he’d scoffled down that night—had, in fact, overshadowed all! Each and every one—of those previous, those magnificent, banquets, that his landlady had bestowed upon him! The Monday-night feast had completely overshadowed all of them!

In addition, not one word had been spoken—by either Susan or Eric—regarding his (lethal?) payment, being due! Due and payable—the very next day. The next—onrushing—day, for heaven’s sake!

Tuesday! Today! Zero Hour! He knew that he should say—that he must say—something! He must find a way to—voluntarily—broach the, ever-so-bothersome, subject! He simply must!

Susan? She may not bring it up! Probably, she would not! But, he was certain that she’d be terribly disappointed—if he did not, at the very least, speak to her, about the situation. He knew that! How could he not?

It had been only a week! Only one, gone-far-too-fast, week! Still, he felt that he knew this wonderful female—as well as he’d ever known any woman! Of any age! At any time! Knew her better than anyone! Even the girl, of his dreams. The beautiful “Aunt Debbie”.

And Susan—this saintly