…
Dear readers, as you
read many of these escapades of Mr. Evens’ and has allowed them to go beyond
the borders of Donkeyland, or his neighborhood, somewhat contrary considered
the premise to be such and to go beyond the years now amounting to a generation
plus, let me show you the difference of wisdom vs. foolishness, two sides of
one coin. It has taken a lifetime for Mr. Evens to have gotten away from such
is the annoyance of latter.
As you well know, there are very foolish people who set up and think of tricks,
gags, and disasters for others, and as you will see from this exploit, fortune
sometimes brings them face to face: this happened to Mr. Evens, whom we can
consider the first impostor, whom abruptly left a girlfriend, to travel to Los
Angeles, with his friend John L., abruptly I say, after his friend Sid M.,
passed on. He left without notice, under
no rules according to the pre living arrangement with Sharon Z., whom I spoke
of earlier her being the trickster in this story, not to get her mixed up with
Sharon W., in another story, this one
is no nun; Sharon Z., was all if not
more she-wolf of her kind.
Anyhow, after the death of Sid, there was a great unhappiness between
Sharon and Chick Evens, and Evens saw a way out, secretly; as the old song goes
by Simon: “Fifty-ways to leave your lover,” and one way being just get up and
go, shut the door behind you and don’t look back.
Well, upon Mr. Evens’ return, in the winter of 1967, he met Sharon Z.,
by accident, with her two young children, playing in the Washington High
School, athletic grounds. Through a wired fence, she took the liberty to
pretend there was no hard bitter feelings she held for his abrupt leaving her
one day, with not even a note. And invited him over to her house that evening
for pleasures. Evens did not realize his own fault (gullibility with women),
and that she saw it on very different
terms. The lad was but nineteen at the
time, and Sharon was living a block away from
Washington High School, she had moved from her apartment, in Donkeyland
on Sycamore Street, to where they had been living prior to his leaving for
California, and now on Albemarle Street.
Once Mr. Evens showed up at the duplex apartment house on Albemarle, he
was at once seized by the girl at the door way, she ripped open her nightgown,
tore it half off her and started screaming trying to pull Evens, whom was
standing at the doorway alone into her apartment, Evens pushed her back
quickly: denounced her violent and wicked depraved action, if known, would
never have come, but then as he turned about to leave, she had engaged the
fellow living in the lower apartment to attack him with an iron crowbar (which
would leave a lifetime scare, and fourteen stiches), and he
fought aimlessly to near unconsciousness. Whereupon, the bloke, who attacked,
his wife come out of her lower apartment, asked her husband: “What are you
doing, what’s going on,” thus the attack was stopped.
“He attacked Sharon Z.,” he shouted.
“How would you know that unless you two fixed it up,” said Mr. Evens,
because she was still upstairs in her room, ashamed to come out I suppose, not
wanting to look Evens in the face, or be confronted by the bloke’s wife. He
changed his tone, and began to speak in very different terms, to the effect
that it was impossible for his wife to believe he was not having an affair with
her (why was he so ready and available? As if waiting alongside the
stairway for him to come down it…)
Well, Sharon had gotten her appetite filled, and evened the score, but
the bloke would also get his due punishment, he would end up in a divorce, and
that divorce would allow him to be drafted into the U. S. Army, and Evens would
meet him once again, in Augsburg, Germany of all places, in sixteen-months’
time, whereupon he was drunk as a skunk in the Enlisted Men’s Club on base,
getting ready to be sent to the Vietnam War, as Private First Class Evens,
would be readily assigned to the 1/36 Artillery; the bloke bellyaching about
Vietnam, and Evens settling in, just listening from a distance.
Very few times in life does one get to see the aftereffects of such
happenings, but when one does, it tastes sweet and sour.
No: 1097/ 7-10-2015
