ALSO- ERWIN makes up stories about other people’s lives, Erwin… I don’t know; I probably should include the dream journal-type stuff I definitely want to writeALSO- ERWIN makes up stories about other people’s lives, Erwin… I don’t know; I probably should include the dream journal-type stuff I definitely want to write. We’ll see.

June 30, 2026-

This is a shopping list I found. on the ground in the very hip UPTOWN section of PORT TOWNSEND.

THE LOST HEDGE TRIMMER STORY ends with me finding the hidden (rather than having been stolen or left on some project) tool about two hours after having purchased a replacement. Actually, two replacements. I damaged thee first replacement after about two minutes of use. Hit a metal thing meant to hold plants up (going for some uninvited blackberry vines). Jam! Damn!

That’s the story, but, the talking to strangers part is this:

My Volvo, which. Has been my work/surf/everything rig, is broken. I want to get the blown head gasket fixed, but… In the meantime, I have been using the Highlander, officially Trisha’s vehicle, while waiting for a replacement work rig I am buying from Adam Wipeout James. Yes, I have my big boy gashog van; would rather not use it every day. And I don’t need to.

The point is, my tools are spread between three rigs and a white trash garage, and I couldn’t find my hedge trimmer, and I ever more desperately want to push back the trees and shrubs that overhang my 200 feet or so of driveway. And the ever-intrusive scotch broom and blackberries. 

So, I’m going up to Port Townsend and I see one of those feather shaped signage things at the Habitat for Humanity place. “Tools.” I whip around, park. A guy says, “Yeah, yeah; we put up the sign, lots of people showed up, cleaned us out.” Then he starts talking about… didn’t matter; he was a low talker, I was in a hurry; so I nod and explain my situation. Another guy, wearing a blue Habitat t shirt, says, “Yard tools. Over here.”

There were, behind their box truck, tools laid out on the grass. Eww, an electric chain saw and a Greenworks hedge trimmer. I imagined, like, fifty bucks each. I ask blue t shirt guy for a price. “How about twenty bucks?” “Each?” “For both.” “Sold. But, wait a second. Do you actually work here, or do you just have the shirt?” “Do you care?” “Not really.”

I haven’t tested my ten-dollar CraIftsman chain saw yet. I plan on. Dropping off the jammed trimmer with George Takamoto. Pretty sure he can fix it.

Still desperate, hedgewise, I go to Home Depot to get just the trimmer. I have chargers and batteries because I made a purchase of several other yard tools a few years ago. Reggie did break my saws-all (reciprocating saw, officially) in about ten seconds when I let him use it. Not apologetic about it because it was ‘on the job.’

I find the trimmers, locked up. I go back to the desk where four people are looking at computer screens, even though there are no other customers waiting. They send a woman from ‘returns’ to help me. She doesn’t have a key.

“Hey, Erwin,” a voice says, “Haven’t seen you in a while.” OH. It turns out Chris, who worked as a carpenter for one of the contractors I painted for, is now working at the Depot. So, that was nice. A little catchup. How long have you been here? “Three months.” Did you know Doug (another carpenter) worked here a while? “No.” Paint department. Didn’t last long. “Yeah, well, it’s more money working construction, but…” I get it. “You’re still painting?’ Of course. “Madman.” Yeah. Good luck. “Nice seeing you.” Likewise.

I have the receipt. I plan on returning the trimmer today. Maybe I’ll see Chris. Maybe I’ll get a replacement reciprocating saw.

ALSO- ERWIN makes up stories about other people’s lives, Erwin… I don’t know; I probably should include the dream journal-type stuff I definitely want to write here. So, okay.

June 12, 2026- “The green sunglasses and the pay-to-park dealie.”

I tried to make it a rule that I would never pay to park somewhere surf-adjacent. I’ve pretty much stuck to this; and, yes, I am aware this has become so much more difficult. in the years since I left California. I have broken this pledge, most notably in my total willingness to park at Doug’s, five dollars for access, totally worth it. Doug died, the opportunity has been replaced with a long hike. Like a six dollar hike.

Probably not surprising, I also refuse to pay big money for coffee when I can make it at home. But I left my thermos at Dru’s house the other day, had to go to the bank in Port Townsend (because they closed the only bank in Quilcene), and I figured I would go to Quimper Mercantile and get a cheap thermonuclear recepticle, fill it with coffee from the Penny Saver, and get on with the day. So, I pulled up to the storefront, parked in a handicapped spot (Trish, who deserves the placard I hung from the rearview mirror, calls it paralyzed parking), and contemplated whether or not I should go in.

I pretty much had to. The lot, other than a cordoned-off area at the bank, is now a pay lot. Maybe they use cameras to track down and charge scofflaw freeparkers. I didn’t know. I went inside, evidently to an auxiliary counter, one with a young man, looking pretty bored. I asked about a thermos. He pointed to the back corner; camping and fishing stuff for tourists braving the wilds, and clothing that might make one believe they are, like, locals. Hats; lots of outdoorsy headgear. A sixty dollar stainless steel thermos. No. I grabbed a ten dollar item designed for, perhaps, soup. Hungryman. Chunky. Hearty.

There are several spinnable racks of sunglasses at the bored guy’s counter. Some have stickers with $3.99 in big letters. I always. need sunglasses; I’ve broken or lost every pair I’ve ever owned. The more I like them, the faster they. are lost or broken. I put a pair on the counter; the frames a lovely shade of seafoam green. I throw another pair on the counter. Backup. The cashier points to a different rack. I may have mentioned my cheapness, or he figured it out. Maybe it was when I complained about the parking fees.

“Oh. So… how much are these?” He hits it with the pricing gun/device. “$29.99” “Oh.” The seafoam green wasn’t that lovely.

Because I have never done the ‘take a photo of the square thing with your phone and…’ thing, and because there was no one behind me waiting to check out, and because I wanted my. parking validated, I asked the obviously savvy young man to do it for me. Yes, I took the photo, yes, I ran out to get the license plate number. So, mission accomplished. On to the Penny Saver.

But, a few hours later, I get a text message from the private parking corporation asking if I want to extend my stay, along with a list of rates (like $26.50 for 24 hours) and convenient ways to pay, and, I think, an NDA. I text back. That doesn’t work. I hit on another spot. “Thank you. Look forward to helping you with your paeking needs in the future.”

Probably not. I can walk over from the bank. Yes, agreed, I shouldn’t have used the paralyzed parking.

COMING UP soon; a story to go along with this image, taken on the shower wall of a house I was painting. A woman with two young children moved out of the house.

It got smudged before I took the photo and is now gone, but the one message says, “I love you moreee,” and the other saiys, or said, “What would you do if you weren’t around me?”

I did see the woman when I looked at the job. She seemed overwhelmed. She and the kids are moving to oh-my-god Alabama. You make up your story. I’m working on mine.