Everyone has their Price

 I was up at 1 I think which made it 2 because of daylight savings time. I called the FedEx to see how late they're open, and they said 6, although the sticker on their door still says 3 on Sundays. 

I took the package that's 20 feet of copper sheet and put that in the bike bag, and took for for H Mart where I locked the bike up and took the package to FedEx then went in for some shopping, sake needles to say, a plate of oh-so-healthy Korean fried stuff, and a beer. It was busy so I just got in and out of there. 

I rode back, and noticed the door of the old building was open and a truck was there. So I stopped in, called out "Hello!" and Tom Price was there. He's the guy who bought the building from the other owner, who'd been renting it to us, before we moved here. 

Tom's a weird guy. We talked for hours. I explained exactly why I don't want to work for him, and his position is that the offer's always open. That's actually kind of nice to know because if something happens to my situation here, and I don't want to immediately go back to Hawaii, I could always work for him after all. Because I would likely live in the old building with him so I'd not have to pay rent. 

We talked about everything from how awful Trump and the right-wingers are, to various adventures in side-hustles and busking, and tons of other stuff. He's got this hulking giant of a son who's 24 now and really only ever wanted to play video games. He's in junior college but not sticking with things. Tom's sleeping in the old building on weekends partly to get away from the kid. 

A lot of people don't like Tom Price but I think I'm getting to like him. Mark, the old co-owner of the old building, likes him and admires how Tom just keeps plugging along no matter what. I guess I'm like that too, and Tom and I talked about things like that, like all the stuff I'd fixed and improved on Mark's place when I lived down there. Tom's actually at least a couple of years younger than myself although he looks older. 

We even talked about busking and I told him about my busking experiences. It turns out he played trumpet from the age of 11 or so, and pulled out his own horn from high school - an Elkhorn "Artist", nothing special. Old trumpets that need a cleaning get this stink, and later, back here, I had to wash my hands just from handling the thing. 

We talked about lots of business ideas like one I've had for a long time, that of getting a pen lathe and making pens from wood from old basketball courts etc., that fans will want because they watched games there or played there. And it could be extended to old hotel dance floor wood, etc. And he's welcome to use the idea because if I do it myself, I'll be doing back in Hawaii. 

Eventually he pulled out a 12-pack of Modelo beer, opened one for my and one for himself, and stuffed the other 10 into my bike bags. "Doesn't this taste just like beer did in high school?" he mused. Half-cold, nothing special. I didn't have the heart to tell him I never touched beer until I was halfway through college. 

Eventually it looked like the rain was going to come in, so we ended the BS session. He's not the most high-caliber friend, but then I've not been able to make any really high-caliber friends (other than Ken I guess) here on the mainland. Back in Hawaii I had friends who were electrical engineers, scientists, doctors, etc.