When I inherited the house I grew up in, the house my grandfather built, I knew the upkeep and back taxes would wipe me out. Even the renovations required to make the place truly marketable were out of the question. So, I sold it for what I could get, leaving most of the furniture.
When the pink slip arrived, I knew that I would not be able to keep the very modest place I’d bought with the proceeds from my grandfather’s house. I hung onto it for as long as I could, but months later, I was still unemployed and my money was mostly gone. I sold the house, leaving more stuff behind.
When the store where I finally found work closed, I knew I was cursed. I took what money I had, bought a van, which seemed a better plan than waiting to be evicted from my rented apartment. I donated the last of my furniture to Goodwill, then loaded up my clothes, books, and vinyl collection.
When the van broke down, I managed to get it off the road. At least it was in a good spot. I put out a sign and sold the books and records. Once these were gone, I packed what clothes I could into my old sea bag, walked to the nearest southbound on-ramp, and stuck out my thumbs.
When a blond in a Mercedes stopped to pick me up, I thought my luck had finally changed . . .