Alone

There was a time when I was all alone and on my own,

no one to visit, no one to call. Neither the time nor the

place were familiar to me. I was stone-cold all alone.

And being from the good ole USA, I found myself on

the other side of the world, upside down, all turned

around. So, I sat in place on a city park bench just

passing the time before sunset when I could beat a

hasty retreat back to my hotel room where I had plan-

ned to drink myself into an uneasy sleep. Still a couple

of hours to kill. For the record, Hyde Park, Sydney, Aus-

tralia the place, 1984. Bottle of cheap vodka in one bag,

a whole rotisserie chicken in the other. And I, a stranger

in a strange land. My reason for being there? No matter

now, no need to explain, there all alone and on my own

just the same. I can say, only myself to blame. And this

day, some thirty-six years later, I am here to tell anyone

interested enough to know, I survived that uncertain

time to grow older, no wiser, mind you, but at least,

eventually I did find my way back home. At that Syd-

ney park bench and on that lonely day, I ate that whole

damned chicken clear down to the bone. And after the

sun went down, I walked back to my hotel room and

drank that fifth of vodka. After the first slug or two, you

can’t tell rot-gut from the premium stuff. Anyway, I

passed out and awoke the next morning with one hel-

lacious hangover. Two invaluable lesson I learned back

then, hangovers come with a price to pay. And no matter

where you find yourself in this world, stone-cold alone or

otherwise, chicken tastes like chicken and vodka, no

matter the cost, pretty much intoxicates all the same.

Woke up alone; nowhere to call home.

-30-

Chris Hanch 2-8-2020