My two favorite Columbus crime stories are back in the news on the same day.
Not so wacky neighborhood news: “Light this (neighborhood) up like a candle tonight,” one of them said. “That’s what I’m saying.”
My two favorite Columbus crime stories are back in the news on the same day.
Not so wacky neighborhood news: “Light this (neighborhood) up like a candle tonight,” one of them said. “That’s what I’m saying.”
Matt and I disagree over the speed civilization will take to collapse. I say it will be a slow transgression that I won’t witness in my life while he thinks it’s right around the corner. In preparation he’s been honing his survival skills. When I heard about his cabin in Asheville, North Carolina I knew I had to visit.
I imagined the shack being located at a scenic North Carolina mountain overlook in the middle of nowhere, an Appalacian Desolation Peak. Nope. It was at the base of a tall cliff owned by a fancy hotel next to a set of railroad tracks within the city limits.
But the shack was impressive: 11′ x 14′ (or so), half loft, locking doors and windows, moonshine.
Did I bring the Black Cloud 500 miles south with me to Asheville? It sure seemed like it. One night we returned to find this random dude named Donny sleeping in Matt’s bed. He gave us a sad story about just getting out of jail and needing a place to crash for the night. He was gone in the morning, but within less than eight hours of meeting him there were more unwanted guests. A team of eight bum camp raiding cops were patrolling the railroad tracks.
They didn’t see Michelle and I, we slept on the other side of the tracks because we were sketched out by Donny, but they found Matt being Matt – he was walking down the tracks brushing his teeth collecting buckets (which he claims are the most important survival tool). Matt was told he was trespassing and never to come back.
Later that day we returned to the shack and found all our water and moonshine emptied and his knives taken. I felt for my good friend, this was his home.