I asked him how he enjoyed his life.
He told me he was free. He ate well. He did whatever he wanted to do.
He said, sure, some times were tough, but for the most part, he had no complaints.
He said he had kids, was married, had a good paying job, but he wasn't happy.
His kids hated him for working all the time. His wife constantly criticized him, and she had affairs.
His job was mundane and unappreciative.
He decided that his life was being wasted.
He decided that the people he loved didn't care about him.
He realized he had no reason for loving the people he thought he cared about.
He took off one day, and never came back.
He discovered how easy life could be if you just let it happen.
Then, he read me an article he found in a newspaper.
It was about the economy, and he commented on it. He was well educated and very articulate.
I realized he was much more intelligent than I was. He had chosen his life, and he was living free.
Compared to my life back then, I was working 6 day a week, 12 hours a day.
My best posssession was a 1972 Mazda Rx2. I had a beatiful girlfriend, but I knew we were destined to go separate ways. All of my friends in Las Vegas were passer bys. My concept of happiness came in the forms of drugs and sex. If I had a goal, it was to have sex with as many women as possible.
Its hard to say whose life was better, them man in the dumpster, or me, drinking a beer watching him scavenge.
I suppose it doesn't really matter does it?
We both considered ourselves to be happy.
The difference between the two of us was he was honest about his nature.
I was drowning out my nature with drugs, alcohol and sex.