"Hobos have been living off of pigeon-jerky for YEARS."

I own a quilt that I've had since shortly after I was born. It was made for me by a family friend named Sue. It is red, and I for the first fifteen years of my life I slept with it every night.

When i was fifteen, I ran away from home. In the dumbest of expressions of teen angst I stole a moderate sum of money and moved to San Francisco. For months I lived there, moving from squat to squat - convinced that I was having probably the most diverse and interesting experience of my life.

That remains to be seen. I did, however, leave without my blanket - which I lovingly call "Wubbie". I have to admit - for the first few nights it was actually getting difficult to sleep without it. I was a big strong man of fifteen, however, so I decided to just chalk this up to apprehension over my new surroundings.

After a while, I came back home. After I did a short stint in the juvenille hall for stealing the money, I went home. There was Wubbie, where it was when I'd left. I laid down in bed, and suddenly it felt as though I'd never gone anywhere. I was home all along.

I was gone from here for a while, but I'm back now. I missed this place - but now it seems like I never left. I had to get through some personal issues before I could resume my noding zeal, but that has happened, and here I am. I am a different man than I was when I wandered west to San Francisco... I have a son and another child on the way, but still Wubbie remains on my half of the bed, ready whenever I need him.