Motion

I have a condition of wanderlust that follows a strange pattern. Whenever I'm in movement, going about in vagabond shoes, I feel free. My life is mine alone, steady in ever changing balance. But should I stay too long in one spot I become stricken with a woeful variant of motion sickness. My head wobbles, my mind is unclear, my legs and feet feel unstable. I have this urge, as does Ishmail in Moby Dick, to knock hats off the heads of men.

Although as rare as it is, I am happy with this reverse condition. It keeps my legs strong, my heart beating at a healthy pace.

But there are downsides. Take, for instance, work. Should I sit at my desk too long-- day after day, weeks on end--I become agitated, slipping into a state of animated delirium. Recently, while working as a clerk at a trademark office, I rose from my swivel chair and gave a primal yelp: "Yeeee,heeee." I then cried out: "My name is Tortelli."

With my unsteady legs I moved to my boss's office. I said, "Forgive me, Mr. Beam." I then proceeded to knock the toupee off his round head.

There was no work for me the next day, so I moved to other employment in an actuary's office. But soon the variant of motion sickness overwhelmed me. "Yeeee, heeee," I cried again. "Miss. Baxter, forgive me, but your a$$ is fat." I then knocked a box of boardwalk fudge off my supervisor's desk and left the office, never to return.

But a cure has come to me in size 91/2 re-soled leather boots. Not to forget a long smooth bindle stick I hold with my barest of belongings tied up in a cloth at the stick's end.

Today I began my hobo's journey. My feet are steady, my life once more in balance as I move from place to place.