“Here...” she held it out to me. I took it and was about to reply, but she cut me short with a cheery “Merry Christmas!” and scurried away, out of the door.I looked down at the envelope. I peeked inside. I could see... maybe a landscape... the tops of a couple of heads... but nothing more.There were people about, so I put the envelope safely away in my bag and made sure I finished work on time that day. On the train home, I wondered what could possibly be in these mystery pictures. “Probably nothing much,” I thought. “Probably just a couple of topless or nudie sunbathing shots”.The house I was sharing was empty when I got home. I made some tea, took it up to my room and lit a cigarette. I took the envelope from my bag, pulled the photos from it and began to look through them...The first was of Stella with some guy, who I later learned was the infamous Damien. Then there were three or four shots of them together with other people, at what looked like folk events. Then there. Mayday was the turning point. I was able to walk use the miserable walker to get into the Walmart store, then use their scooter to get around. Walmart was a blessing during that time in my life. I was able to purchase the essentials of life all on my on. It was redneck courage at it’s best. One day I filled the Accent’s trunk with 12 packs of toilet paper. When I say fill, I’m talking a dozen 12 packs at a time. I managed to buy 6 jars of strawberry jelly on the same trip along with ten small jars of peanut butter. Those I figured were my emergency rations.No matter what people thought about the old man riding the scooter on those first few trips, it just didn’t bother me. None of my days were spent doing anything fun, unless someone came by to take me somewhere outside the house of pain. Which believe it or not happened often.Thia made her twice weekly stops after work. She was working the night shift, when I got sprung from the hospital. So she stopped by on her way home. At first.
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