Cookie Sheet Heater
I ran into Sean, a member of the Old Crow Book Club, on a cold weekday morning. He was standing outside his domicile, a 1975 Dodge Ram pickup with a windowless canopy, and sorting through his possessions.
We struck up a conversation. He always asks me how Dad is doing in assisted living. I told him I'd just had a great visit with him. In fact, I was walking home from it and feeling pretty good.
Sean said he'd spent most of his morning cleaning up the shit left behind by a couple other homeless residents on his side street. It took quite an effort to drag a soggy mattress to a nearby dumpster.
I asked him if he'd finally got his truck running. Yes, he said. It was ready to rock and roll once he changed the oil. Sean said he was looking forward to being mobile again. He wasn't going to leave the neighborhood, but at least he wouldn't be in the same spot as he had been the last three years.
The cold was getting to him. He'd previously rigged up a propane heating contraption inside the canopy but it melted his favorite coat. He also felt like he was breathing too much carbon monoxide so he ditched the contraption.
Sean then told me how he'd been keeping himself warm. He placed a cookie sheet on the bumper of the truck. He squirted lighter fluid on the cookie sheet and ignited the fuel with a lighter. The heat from the fire warmed his hands and face and occasionally heated up coffee.
Let me repeat: he placed a cookie sheet on the bumper of the truck. He squirted lighter fluid on the cookie sheet and ignited the fuel with a lighter. The heat from the fire warmed his hands and face and occasionally heated up coffee.
I told Sean the book about the Old Crow Book Club was coming out soon and my plan to enlist members to help me distribute it via street libraries. He was all for it. He wanted to help.
Sean doesn't have a phone so we discussed how I could reach him once the book comes out. He showed me where to stash a note inside the canopy.
We said our goodbyes and I had visions of flaming cookie sheets in my head as I walked toward home.