There was a light breeze blowing, but it gave very little comfort when the temperature was hovering at about 110 degrees. I decided that I really could have done without the breeze, because it was like having an oven blowing in your face. I had big ambitions before I started to run...7 miles...I would do 7 miles...slow of course, because of the heat, but I was in awesome shape. After all, I had just qualified for the Boston Marathon. Or so I thought....
Me: Hey body? What's up?
Body: What are you trying to do kill me?
Me: No. Absolutely not! I'm trying to help you become physically fit?
Body: Well hey...I have a bright idea you moron...Try finding a cool place and a cold drink and quit thinking for a while!!!
Me: I was just trying to help?
Body: You can help by going into that store and getting me a nice tall Gatorade...I mean...what kind of an idiot would go for a run in the desert when it is 110 degrees?
Me: Are you calling me an idiot?
Body: Hey! Idiot! The Gatorade please! Now!!
I ducked inside of a convenience store and looked at my GPS watch. 3.14 miles...Ok...that was good...I ran pi! I always run with a few dollars tucked into my shorts pocket and I'm glad that I did on this day for I bought the largest bottle of ice cold glacier Gatorade that they had. Enough of the manly heroics. I was done running on this day! I left the store and hobbled back out into the oppressive heat. I could see the hotel a few blocks away and was heading in that direction when I stumbled into Methuselah.
He at first appeared to be quite ancient...hence the nickname...but after speaking with him, and observing him a little bit more carefully I concluded that the man was probably not that much older than my nearly 46 years. His rough years of hard alcohol soaked living and probable drug use, along with his grey matted beard, and leathery sun beaten skin had muddled my initial perception of him. He was extremely thin with attenuated limbs and a cadaverous looking face with a red bulbous nose common to people afflicted with alcohol abuse. If he kept on this path...I guessed...it wouldn't be long before he passed into the eternal abyss. He peered at me suspiciously through a set of beady eyes. He had been laying down on the sidewalk and when I rounded the corner I had almost stepped on him. At first I thought that he might have been dead, but he had sat up on his elbows when I stopped to ask if he was ok. He told me that he was tired. I, in turn, told him that this was no time of the day to be outside sweltering in the hot desert sun. Although, he had found a shady spot under a buildings overhang. We talked for quite some time and I found out that this wreck of a man was no ignoramus. He talked with a keen sense of intelligence and possessed a vocabulary that had to have come from a man of some education. I wondered what had brought him to his present condition, but it was none of my business so I did not ask. He, however, seemed surprised that I was sitting on the sidewalk talking to him. I asked him where he was from originally, because nobody it seems is a native of Las Vegas. He then told me that he was Canadian and had come to the United States when he was in his early teens with his parents who had since passed away. He had worked as a consultant of some kind for a number of years and had married, but his wife had died of cancer a few years ago. Ironically, he claimed that he too, now had cancer, and that his health insurance quit paying for his treatments. He had lost his house, his job, and now "here I am!" He said. He had no children...and now, no family. Every now and then he would laugh...a laugh that seemed to mock his very existence. So I was wrong about him! He was no depraved alcoholic...At least he wasn't if he was being truthful. His condition was the result of an unfortunate and unlucky set of circumstances. He had simply drawn a bad lot...The short straw...The Joker in the deck!
I asked him why he didn't go back to Canada where he was a citizen because they had a national health care plan that took care of its citizens. He told me that he was no longer a Canadian citizen...that he had applied for Medicaid but that he did not qualify because his household income was too high. He had explained to them that he had lost his job, but they had turned a blind eye.
"Good God Fearing Christians!" He had said with some drama. "I came here to Vegas, because Vegas has the friendliest people on the planet" He told me.
I was skeptical of his claims, but who was I to question him? I had only been in Vegas for three or four days. He had been here close to a year.
"God Fearing Christians!!" he muttered again. I wished him luck and gave him the remainder of the money I had in my pocket (which wasn't much) and as I took my leave of him I could still hear his mocking laugh. Ah HEE...HEE...HEE...HEE!!!
