There was an old man who lived alone. Mostly people left him to himself, which was alright with him. He ate dinner at the Senior Center once in a while, and once he took the Senior Bus to Reno which surprised everyone.
Said he won forty dollars on the slots but no-one saw him.
There were rumors about the old man.
Some people said he grew marijuana on his farm back in the hippy days. They even said he'd been in prison for it.
Some said he'd been road manager for the Dead back in the beginning. Well, if not the Dead, some other famous group.
There were people who said he had a brand new nineteen sixty four and a half Mustang in his barn, but no-one had seen it.
He had one friend, a woman named Leanne, though in the 60's she was known as Dream Weaver.
On warm summer nights they would sit outside on white plastic chairs and they would chat back and forth about nothing in particular. If they wished, they could have shared the warmth and comfort of a house, a bed, a kitchen, but they did not choose to. They lived their quiet and separate lives.
Then one morning the old man opened up his barn and drove his 1964 and a half Mustang into the light of day. It was indeed a splendid vehicle. Twenty three miles on the odometer. Mustang green - some say not a pretty color, but hey it was original and hardly faded.
The old man threw a pack onto the back seat and drove down the road to get gas. Then he went to Dream Weaver's house and gave her the title to the farm.
``I'm off,'' he said, ``to say good-bye to America,'' and he drove clear out of town before he had to stop and clear the gas filter. Then he really was on his way and no-one ever heard from him again.
Leanne might have, but she didn't say anything.