Wednesday, April 27, 2005
Somebody Put Disease on Them
Howie was already up when I arrived yesterday, though I was actually almost half an hour earlier than usual. He helped me unload the groceries. He even put away a few of the TV dinners. His helping is unusual.
As I was unloading things, I noticed that there were several oranges left, a couple of which were growing mold. "Your oranges are getting moldy," I said. "Somebody put disease on them," Howie said. So I washed out the fruit bowl with soap and water and put in the fresh oranges. Even though a couple of the old oranges looked okay, I tossed them along with the moldy ones just to be safe.
As we were getting ready to leave, Howie couldn't decide whether or not to change his pants. He put his wallet into a clean pair and then took it out again. He seemed undecided about how dirty his current pants were. I told him to go ahead and change. He said, "We need to get some new pants and shoes. These aren't ours. They are just on loan." I told him that they were his pants and that I had bought them just for him. He put on the clean pair.
Howie changed his mind a few times about where to eat lunch, but decided we should eat on the west end of town (which is far from the house outside the east end of town). The big Chinese buffet is out there and that's what he suggested. We sat next to a very noisy table with loud talking women, and I hoped Howie would not react in a negative way. There was also a TV hanging about ten feet away, and Howie turned and looked at it a few times, but he didn't react. So we ate in peace. The food was good and I ate too much of it as I usually do at buffets.
When we got back in the car, I said, "Well, there are at least four dollar stores in town. Which would you like to go to?" Howie replied, "The trouble is, none of them want us to shop there." So I suggested we go to the Smoke Shop for his cigarettes. As we headed through town and I passed the street where one of the dollar stores is, Howie said, "You should have turned there. Go to that dollar store." I told him we had passed it and could go to the dollar store in the center with the Smoke Shop. He said okay.
We went to the dollar store first. As we walked across the parking lot, a truck was just pulling up to the curb outside the store. Just as we walked behind it, the truck let out the air blast from the air bakes being set. We went on inside the store. In a minute or two, Howie said, "Let's get out of here before they blow the place up." I reminded him he had said he wanted some candles, so we went to the candle aisle. I pointed out the Novena candles he usually buys, but all the ones here had pictures of the robed, long-haired Jesus on them. (He usually buys the ones without pictures.) "Here are some jar candles," I said. "Those are for some guru group," Howie said. He picked up some other candles, some pot pourri leaves, some liquid pot pourri, some hand lotion, two boxes of toothpicks, and some other items. Sometimes I think he is shopping almost randomly, because he picks up several items from whatever aisle we happen to walk down. But I think he sometimes sees a meaning in what he buys. Either the product is good to ward off disease or it is made by a member of his group or some such idea.
We went by the bank to see if there was a credit card and tickets and money for Howie. When he came back and I asked what he found out, he just said, "Their computers are down for a few days."
On the way home, Howie said, "I need to get a used car so I can drive to the other world." Then he turned to me and said, "Can you help me? It feels like they keep pulling part of my head off." I told him his head looked normal to me.
At home, Howie said, "Did you hear that blast at the store?" I said, "From the truck?" He said, "Yes." I asked, "What about it?" Howie said, "The truck blew up, I think."
At one point in our time together, I asked Howie if his heart was still hurting, and he said, "They pulled something out of me, so it doesn't stab anymore." He said his heart felt better. However, he thought his left arm was broken at the elbow and held it some as if in pain. I asked him if he had been taking aspirin for the pain, but he didn't respond.
I did some mopping and a little weeding and then had to leave. Howie thanked me again for my help. Bless him.
As I was unloading things, I noticed that there were several oranges left, a couple of which were growing mold. "Your oranges are getting moldy," I said. "Somebody put disease on them," Howie said. So I washed out the fruit bowl with soap and water and put in the fresh oranges. Even though a couple of the old oranges looked okay, I tossed them along with the moldy ones just to be safe.
As we were getting ready to leave, Howie couldn't decide whether or not to change his pants. He put his wallet into a clean pair and then took it out again. He seemed undecided about how dirty his current pants were. I told him to go ahead and change. He said, "We need to get some new pants and shoes. These aren't ours. They are just on loan." I told him that they were his pants and that I had bought them just for him. He put on the clean pair.
Howie changed his mind a few times about where to eat lunch, but decided we should eat on the west end of town (which is far from the house outside the east end of town). The big Chinese buffet is out there and that's what he suggested. We sat next to a very noisy table with loud talking women, and I hoped Howie would not react in a negative way. There was also a TV hanging about ten feet away, and Howie turned and looked at it a few times, but he didn't react. So we ate in peace. The food was good and I ate too much of it as I usually do at buffets.
When we got back in the car, I said, "Well, there are at least four dollar stores in town. Which would you like to go to?" Howie replied, "The trouble is, none of them want us to shop there." So I suggested we go to the Smoke Shop for his cigarettes. As we headed through town and I passed the street where one of the dollar stores is, Howie said, "You should have turned there. Go to that dollar store." I told him we had passed it and could go to the dollar store in the center with the Smoke Shop. He said okay.
We went to the dollar store first. As we walked across the parking lot, a truck was just pulling up to the curb outside the store. Just as we walked behind it, the truck let out the air blast from the air bakes being set. We went on inside the store. In a minute or two, Howie said, "Let's get out of here before they blow the place up." I reminded him he had said he wanted some candles, so we went to the candle aisle. I pointed out the Novena candles he usually buys, but all the ones here had pictures of the robed, long-haired Jesus on them. (He usually buys the ones without pictures.) "Here are some jar candles," I said. "Those are for some guru group," Howie said. He picked up some other candles, some pot pourri leaves, some liquid pot pourri, some hand lotion, two boxes of toothpicks, and some other items. Sometimes I think he is shopping almost randomly, because he picks up several items from whatever aisle we happen to walk down. But I think he sometimes sees a meaning in what he buys. Either the product is good to ward off disease or it is made by a member of his group or some such idea.
We went by the bank to see if there was a credit card and tickets and money for Howie. When he came back and I asked what he found out, he just said, "Their computers are down for a few days."
On the way home, Howie said, "I need to get a used car so I can drive to the other world." Then he turned to me and said, "Can you help me? It feels like they keep pulling part of my head off." I told him his head looked normal to me.
At home, Howie said, "Did you hear that blast at the store?" I said, "From the truck?" He said, "Yes." I asked, "What about it?" Howie said, "The truck blew up, I think."
At one point in our time together, I asked Howie if his heart was still hurting, and he said, "They pulled something out of me, so it doesn't stab anymore." He said his heart felt better. However, he thought his left arm was broken at the elbow and held it some as if in pain. I asked him if he had been taking aspirin for the pain, but he didn't respond.
I did some mopping and a little weeding and then had to leave. Howie thanked me again for my help. Bless him.
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
I've Got to Leave This Place
Howie was already up when I arrived at the house yesterday. He was, as usual, anxious for me to take him to the airport, this time not to go to Maui but to the other town of the same name as his. He said that all his relatives live in that town and that's where he used to live. He added, "I've got to leave this place. They don't want us to live here anymore."
We headed toward the small Mexican buffet that he regularly wants to go to. As we drove, he asked, "Can you drive to the long distance gate bounce around deal, or do you have to fly there?" I asked him what he meant, and he said he wanted to get to Yibi-town (his town name with Yibi prefixed). I told him I didn't know how to get there.
After lunch I suggested the dollar store near the restaurant (his town has at least four dollar stores), but he wanted to go to the one on the west end of town, so we drove there. When we got inside, he said, "They don't want us to shop here." I told him it was okay. Howie picked up some three-by-five cards and some notebooks, and then said, "That's all. They don't want us here." I told him I needed to look for something in the store, so I went over to the cleaning supplies. As Howie slowly followed, he pickek up some pens, some all-purpose cleaner (two bottles) and some other items, totalling twelve in all. He kept insisting that we should leave. We soon did.
As we walked back to the car, Howie said, "I broke a leg or some deal." He shook his right leg and wiggled his foot. Back in the car, he repeated the comment and wiggled his foot again. He must have concluded that someone did this to him, because he became somewhat upset and in a minute or two said angrily (but softly), "Oh great. There are eight million Russians in town now."
Howie wanted to go to a new cigarette store he had spotted because he thought none of the others wanted him, so we found it along the street. He got out of the car, walked up to the door, and then came back. "It's not open," he said. "There's a motorcycle parked in front of the door." There was also a huge delivery truck blocking the parking lot, so I couldn't see just what the situation was. So we left.
We drove to another of the dollar stores, but as soon as Howie walked inside, he said, "The loudspeaker told us they don't want us to shop here." He wouldn't stay inside. I looked for the cleaner I was trying to find while he waited outside.
Finally, we went to one of the cigarette stores where Howie bought some cigarettes. Then we went home.
The only thing different I got Howie grocery wise this week was a can of that aerosol cheese spread and some crackers. Oh, and a bag of pretzels. Otherwise, the same stuff. I did get him a Chinese TV dinner in addition to his favorite Salisbury steak ones. The weed killer I used on the weeds in the driveway has worked quite well, in spite of Howie's propensity to water the driveways regularly. He loves to spray water with the garden hoses. In the air, on the ground, sometimes on the plants.
We headed toward the small Mexican buffet that he regularly wants to go to. As we drove, he asked, "Can you drive to the long distance gate bounce around deal, or do you have to fly there?" I asked him what he meant, and he said he wanted to get to Yibi-town (his town name with Yibi prefixed). I told him I didn't know how to get there.
After lunch I suggested the dollar store near the restaurant (his town has at least four dollar stores), but he wanted to go to the one on the west end of town, so we drove there. When we got inside, he said, "They don't want us to shop here." I told him it was okay. Howie picked up some three-by-five cards and some notebooks, and then said, "That's all. They don't want us here." I told him I needed to look for something in the store, so I went over to the cleaning supplies. As Howie slowly followed, he pickek up some pens, some all-purpose cleaner (two bottles) and some other items, totalling twelve in all. He kept insisting that we should leave. We soon did.
As we walked back to the car, Howie said, "I broke a leg or some deal." He shook his right leg and wiggled his foot. Back in the car, he repeated the comment and wiggled his foot again. He must have concluded that someone did this to him, because he became somewhat upset and in a minute or two said angrily (but softly), "Oh great. There are eight million Russians in town now."
Howie wanted to go to a new cigarette store he had spotted because he thought none of the others wanted him, so we found it along the street. He got out of the car, walked up to the door, and then came back. "It's not open," he said. "There's a motorcycle parked in front of the door." There was also a huge delivery truck blocking the parking lot, so I couldn't see just what the situation was. So we left.
We drove to another of the dollar stores, but as soon as Howie walked inside, he said, "The loudspeaker told us they don't want us to shop here." He wouldn't stay inside. I looked for the cleaner I was trying to find while he waited outside.
Finally, we went to one of the cigarette stores where Howie bought some cigarettes. Then we went home.
The only thing different I got Howie grocery wise this week was a can of that aerosol cheese spread and some crackers. Oh, and a bag of pretzels. Otherwise, the same stuff. I did get him a Chinese TV dinner in addition to his favorite Salisbury steak ones. The weed killer I used on the weeds in the driveway has worked quite well, in spite of Howie's propensity to water the driveways regularly. He loves to spray water with the garden hoses. In the air, on the ground, sometimes on the plants.
Wednesday, April 13, 2005
We're Being Followed by 200 Killers
When I arrived at Howie's house yesterday, he greeted me with an urgent plea to take him to the airport. "I have to leave here," he said, as he often does. We went through the same dialog we often do. "Take me to the airport," "Do you have a ticket," "It's a the airport," "Which airline?" "I don't know, any of them." And so forth. A bit later he asked how much a taxi costs to go to the airport, so he was clearly trying to make other plans than relying on me. In the course of his requests over time, Howie mentions different airports, including small ones that do not have any airline service. This day he did mention a larger one.
I asked him where he wanted to eat lunch and he said, "Some restaurant over near the IHop," which, as I have said, is on the far end of town. So we drove over to a Chinese buffet in that direction. We've eaten there a few times. I had suggested Islands, but Howie said, "We almost got blown up there the last time."
On the way to lunch, Howie said, "We're being followed by 200 killers, who are hurting us." A few minutes later he said, "One of us just got tortured and cut into pieces." Then he added, "I hope he got put back together."
I asked him how his heart was doing and he said the pain was less. "They don't have that sticker deal in there anymore," he said.
Again thinking about the airport, Howie said, "See how I can get a $100 car." (Recall that Howie usually talks to his friends or his group, and not to me.)
We had a really good lunch (Howie liked his, too) and decided to go to the dollar store in the same shopping center. "They didn't want us there the last time," Howie said. "Maybe it's under new ownership," I suggested. So we headed for it. Outside, Howie said, "They don't want us to shop here." I said, "Sure they do. Come on." So he reluctantly went in with me. When we got inside, Howie said, "We're not supposed to shop here." Then he said to his friends, "They don't want us. Can we go down one lelvel to Jumpy's?" And then Howie jumped up and down two or three times.
A minute later, Howie came over to me and said, "Do you know how to go down half a level where the kids are?" I said no. He then said, "They don't want us to shop in this store. Let's go." So we left.
In the car I asked him where he wanted to get some cigarettes. There is a store at the other end of the center where he has shopped in the past, so I suggested that. "We shouldn't shop there, either," he said. Then he added, "Just go there anyway." So we drove over. On the way, Howie asked, "Can you fix the car like a homing pigeon, to take us home?" I asked what he meant. He said, "Did you fix the car before, to go down a level?" I said no. By now we were at the cigarette store.
He got out, went to the store, hesitated, then looked at the newspaper rack outside. Finally, he came back to the car. "Let's go to the drive through dairy to get some cigarettes," he said. I didn't know where that was, so he directed me through town. On the way, Howie said, "A bunch of us are trapped underground back there."
I should mention that my accounts of Howie's comments are only a small part of what he actually says when we are together. He mumbles most of the time, since he isn't talking to me anyway, usually. And he says to many things that I can't remember more than a few of them. Much of his commentary revolves around persecutorial delusions (such as the 200 killers), harming him or his kids or friends, or around political and economic battles (people stealing his money, invading his island or national property, suing him or being sued by him for some kind of theft of ideas or goods). The mentally ill do not all have a happy fantasy life as some people think, where they imagine they are a famous and important person and that boosts their ego. In Howie's case, at least, the fantasy includes slights, insults, persecution, injustice, theft, cheating, killing, torture, robbery, car bombs, nuclear war, attacks, "zombie rays," "klonker deals," and the like. By his account, he should be both rich and famous, but his enemies continue to steal his products and money and sabotage his work and kill his relatives, friends, and group members.
But to return.
We found the drive through and Howie bought some cigarettes. A matronly woman employee stood in front of the car while we took the cigarettes and handed over the money to the salesgirl, probably the woman's daughter. Clever way to prevent grab and dash theft, I thought.
Back home I sprayed some weeds and defrosted Howie's small refrigerator (where he keeps his soda). As I left, he again thanked me for my help. I wish it were more.
I asked him where he wanted to eat lunch and he said, "Some restaurant over near the IHop," which, as I have said, is on the far end of town. So we drove over to a Chinese buffet in that direction. We've eaten there a few times. I had suggested Islands, but Howie said, "We almost got blown up there the last time."
On the way to lunch, Howie said, "We're being followed by 200 killers, who are hurting us." A few minutes later he said, "One of us just got tortured and cut into pieces." Then he added, "I hope he got put back together."
I asked him how his heart was doing and he said the pain was less. "They don't have that sticker deal in there anymore," he said.
Again thinking about the airport, Howie said, "See how I can get a $100 car." (Recall that Howie usually talks to his friends or his group, and not to me.)
We had a really good lunch (Howie liked his, too) and decided to go to the dollar store in the same shopping center. "They didn't want us there the last time," Howie said. "Maybe it's under new ownership," I suggested. So we headed for it. Outside, Howie said, "They don't want us to shop here." I said, "Sure they do. Come on." So he reluctantly went in with me. When we got inside, Howie said, "We're not supposed to shop here." Then he said to his friends, "They don't want us. Can we go down one lelvel to Jumpy's?" And then Howie jumped up and down two or three times.
A minute later, Howie came over to me and said, "Do you know how to go down half a level where the kids are?" I said no. He then said, "They don't want us to shop in this store. Let's go." So we left.
In the car I asked him where he wanted to get some cigarettes. There is a store at the other end of the center where he has shopped in the past, so I suggested that. "We shouldn't shop there, either," he said. Then he added, "Just go there anyway." So we drove over. On the way, Howie asked, "Can you fix the car like a homing pigeon, to take us home?" I asked what he meant. He said, "Did you fix the car before, to go down a level?" I said no. By now we were at the cigarette store.
He got out, went to the store, hesitated, then looked at the newspaper rack outside. Finally, he came back to the car. "Let's go to the drive through dairy to get some cigarettes," he said. I didn't know where that was, so he directed me through town. On the way, Howie said, "A bunch of us are trapped underground back there."
I should mention that my accounts of Howie's comments are only a small part of what he actually says when we are together. He mumbles most of the time, since he isn't talking to me anyway, usually. And he says to many things that I can't remember more than a few of them. Much of his commentary revolves around persecutorial delusions (such as the 200 killers), harming him or his kids or friends, or around political and economic battles (people stealing his money, invading his island or national property, suing him or being sued by him for some kind of theft of ideas or goods). The mentally ill do not all have a happy fantasy life as some people think, where they imagine they are a famous and important person and that boosts their ego. In Howie's case, at least, the fantasy includes slights, insults, persecution, injustice, theft, cheating, killing, torture, robbery, car bombs, nuclear war, attacks, "zombie rays," "klonker deals," and the like. By his account, he should be both rich and famous, but his enemies continue to steal his products and money and sabotage his work and kill his relatives, friends, and group members.
But to return.
We found the drive through and Howie bought some cigarettes. A matronly woman employee stood in front of the car while we took the cigarettes and handed over the money to the salesgirl, probably the woman's daughter. Clever way to prevent grab and dash theft, I thought.
Back home I sprayed some weeds and defrosted Howie's small refrigerator (where he keeps his soda). As I left, he again thanked me for my help. I wish it were more.
Wednesday, April 06, 2005
I Called to See If You Were Blown Up
Howie called this afternoon. First he asked, "Are you okay?" I said I was fine. He said, "Are you nearby? I'm suppposed to go to the bank to see about my credit card, but they set a bomb off." I told him I was at home, which is not nearby. He said, "The house is being zombied." I asked him what that meant. He said, "The candle holders got too hot. They choked us and half our body flew out the window."
When he asked again about the bank, I said, "I took you to the bank last week to see about your credit card." Howie said, "That wasn't us. It was different." I told him I would take him again next Tuesday. He said okay.
Then he said, "I just called to see if you were blown up by a car bomb." I get the impression that many times when he calls he has had a message that I have been killed and he wants to confirm that or at least find out whether the message is true. He often begins a call with, "Are you okay?" In the past when I would call him, he would answer eagerly until he found out I was the caller and then sound disappointed, almost as if to say, "Oh, it's just you." Then he would imply that my call cut off another, more important call trying to get through to him. He was expecting one of his friends or group to call, I guess. So now it's nice that he is concerned about my possible death. But, of course, it's also very sad knowing the suffering he is going through.
When he asked again about the bank, I said, "I took you to the bank last week to see about your credit card." Howie said, "That wasn't us. It was different." I told him I would take him again next Tuesday. He said okay.
Then he said, "I just called to see if you were blown up by a car bomb." I get the impression that many times when he calls he has had a message that I have been killed and he wants to confirm that or at least find out whether the message is true. He often begins a call with, "Are you okay?" In the past when I would call him, he would answer eagerly until he found out I was the caller and then sound disappointed, almost as if to say, "Oh, it's just you." Then he would imply that my call cut off another, more important call trying to get through to him. He was expecting one of his friends or group to call, I guess. So now it's nice that he is concerned about my possible death. But, of course, it's also very sad knowing the suffering he is going through.
They're Writing on My Forehead Again
I visited Howie yesterday. Once again he wanted to eat at IHop, so I relented and we went. I should mention that the reason he wants to eat at a particular restaurant is not because he likes the food but because he has gotten an idea that it is important somehow. The reason may be any of the following:
1. Someone is going to meet him there and help him, rescue him, or give him a message.
2. He has been told (on the radio) to go to that restaurant to be "tested."
3. One of his people (friends, relatives, pieces of himself, children) needs help and is at the restaurant waiting for him.
4. The restaurant is far enough away from the ghosts and zombies that he can eat there without being attacked.
As we drove to the restaurant, Howie again asked me to take him to the airport so he could fly to Maui. Once again I told him he needed a ticket. He said one was waiting. I told him to call the airline to be sure so we wouldn't make a useless trip. He said "Another Bob is waiting for us in Maui, and he will help us." I guess he's rather disappointed in this Bob for not helping him get there.
As we continued our drive, Howie said, "Can you help me find where I used to live?" I asked where that was. He said, "It was in Yibi Town." He used his current city name instead of the word Town. I told him I didn't know how to get there.
We had lunch at the IHop. Howie kept his hand over his chest. I asked him if his heart hurt and he said yes. I offered to take him to a doctor, but as usual he said, "No. I'm all right." I asked him if he was taking aspirin and he said no. I can't get him even to take a pain pill. We finished lunch and then drove over to one of the dollar stores he likes. As we neared the store, Howie said, "They're writing on my forehead again. It's some zombie deal."
We entered the dollar store, and Howie bought some candles, some coffee mugs (they keep getting slammed onto the floor, so he always needs more), 1250 note cards (3 by 5), some notebooks, some liquid hand soap, and some underwear.
As we left, Howie said to me, "Our little friend called for us at the restaurant back there. He got arrested and they put him in a box." Then he continued with himself: "What should I do? Should I have waited? I don't know."
Back at the house I had only enough time to spray a few weeds.
1. Someone is going to meet him there and help him, rescue him, or give him a message.
2. He has been told (on the radio) to go to that restaurant to be "tested."
3. One of his people (friends, relatives, pieces of himself, children) needs help and is at the restaurant waiting for him.
4. The restaurant is far enough away from the ghosts and zombies that he can eat there without being attacked.
As we drove to the restaurant, Howie again asked me to take him to the airport so he could fly to Maui. Once again I told him he needed a ticket. He said one was waiting. I told him to call the airline to be sure so we wouldn't make a useless trip. He said "Another Bob is waiting for us in Maui, and he will help us." I guess he's rather disappointed in this Bob for not helping him get there.
As we continued our drive, Howie said, "Can you help me find where I used to live?" I asked where that was. He said, "It was in Yibi Town." He used his current city name instead of the word Town. I told him I didn't know how to get there.
We had lunch at the IHop. Howie kept his hand over his chest. I asked him if his heart hurt and he said yes. I offered to take him to a doctor, but as usual he said, "No. I'm all right." I asked him if he was taking aspirin and he said no. I can't get him even to take a pain pill. We finished lunch and then drove over to one of the dollar stores he likes. As we neared the store, Howie said, "They're writing on my forehead again. It's some zombie deal."
We entered the dollar store, and Howie bought some candles, some coffee mugs (they keep getting slammed onto the floor, so he always needs more), 1250 note cards (3 by 5), some notebooks, some liquid hand soap, and some underwear.
As we left, Howie said to me, "Our little friend called for us at the restaurant back there. He got arrested and they put him in a box." Then he continued with himself: "What should I do? Should I have waited? I don't know."
Back at the house I had only enough time to spray a few weeds.
Jumpy Owns That, I Think
I visited Howie last week as usual. I suggested going to the fish and chicken place I like, but as he almost always does, Howie said no because that place has wronged him. He used to say they took away his car, but now he said they did something else against him. I couldn't make out what, since he mumbled too low.
Howie suggested the IHop, but that's at the far end of town and I didn't want to drive there because that would eat into my time working around the house. So he agreed to go to the buffet. As we drove over, we passed a Claim Jumper restaurant. Howie said (to his friends, not to me), "I forgot about Claim Jumper. Jumpy owns that, I think. Can you check on that?"
We ate at the buffet. When we were ready to leave, Howie said, "Let's go out the back door." I told him there was no back door. He said, "We should go out the back door. They got blown up out there." Apparently, he meant that people out front got blown up.
Howie wanted to go by his former bank again, to see if they had issued him a credit card. He continues to think that someone has a credit card ready for him, or cash, and some airline tickets to Maui. So we stopped by the bank. He came out with a credit card application. "What did you find out?" I asked. "They don't know anything about it," he said.
We stopped by the Smoke Shop where Howie got some cigarettes. On the way home, he said, "They tore somebody off our head in that store." Then he added, "We need to get our own stores so we can buy something." I think he meant that if he and his group owned the store, he could shop without being attacked.
I did a little cleaning and a little weeding as usual and then had to leave.
Howie suggested the IHop, but that's at the far end of town and I didn't want to drive there because that would eat into my time working around the house. So he agreed to go to the buffet. As we drove over, we passed a Claim Jumper restaurant. Howie said (to his friends, not to me), "I forgot about Claim Jumper. Jumpy owns that, I think. Can you check on that?"
We ate at the buffet. When we were ready to leave, Howie said, "Let's go out the back door." I told him there was no back door. He said, "We should go out the back door. They got blown up out there." Apparently, he meant that people out front got blown up.
Howie wanted to go by his former bank again, to see if they had issued him a credit card. He continues to think that someone has a credit card ready for him, or cash, and some airline tickets to Maui. So we stopped by the bank. He came out with a credit card application. "What did you find out?" I asked. "They don't know anything about it," he said.
We stopped by the Smoke Shop where Howie got some cigarettes. On the way home, he said, "They tore somebody off our head in that store." Then he added, "We need to get our own stores so we can buy something." I think he meant that if he and his group owned the store, he could shop without being attacked.
I did a little cleaning and a little weeding as usual and then had to leave.