If eastern Oregon was a man, he would smell like campfires. He wouldn't have a house, because his motto would be, Why settle. He would wear a hat low over his eyes. He would know things.
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I wouldn't have to explain myself to eastern Oregon. When I felt cold with hate towards this world and the things in it, he would start a fire. When I had to leave, he would give me a knife for the gators. Eastern Oregon always has an extra.
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When I finally came back, he wouldn't be there, because you don't stay in one place very long in the desert. It's not how it's done. But he would have left a trail for me to follow. He would know that I could take it from there.
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And when I'm finally ready, I would find him again. It's important to watch for his hands. It's the surest way of recognizing him. I would bring him a gator head as a souvenir, and that would make him smile. I'm the only one who can do that.