A gentleman walked into the newspaper office today and said, "I'm the guy you hate."
It was the guy who bought my house.
"I told you I don't hate anyone," I said and we shook hands. We had talked before when he reached out to me after the sale.
Oddly, our circumstances aren't much different. He had sold his house some months ago while downsizing and struggled to find something in this area, which suffers from a lack of housing of any kind. So for half a year, he's been looking for a place to stay and it turned out to be my rental.
I'd written a local newspaper column about how my personal situation bodes ill for the entire community. We continue to grow because of natural beauty plus the many amenities not normal to a small town because of the tourism industry. However, we need servers and bartenders and bussers and the kind of employees tourism and expanding populations need. And there's no housing for those folks.
The guy was nice enough to bring in some items I'd left -- I missed one kitchen cabinet. We talked and laughed. He's a good guy. He also reads this blog, which makes him even better.
As he left, I reminded him we talked about going out and having a drink after we're both settled in.
"OK," he said. "But I'm buying -- because you're homeless."
It is my narrative after all.
Peace and free drinks unto all of you my brothers and sisters.