March 21, 1982

           First day of Spring. Got Unit 5 fired up and opened shop. Marty was entertaining some loudmouth broad who rapidly informs people she’s “engaged to a mechanic”. We traded words in a hurry. Behind the shop, I met George who took it [Unit 5] for a drive. I think he was rather impressed. It’s a beautiful car.
           So I continued to Coquitlam. Dave was enthused but we sat around watching TV. I wish I could somehow get by without vehicles—except that one. The machines ate a lot of money on folks. I wish somebody would buy that place. I have difficulty limiting my liability on it. We’ll see, I may need it yet. Cindy and Mitch were over.
           I picked up these to little lady hitchhikers. Perfect bodies. Something like the one in the “Pacific West” jeans at the Reef last night, but younger. How I am in pain to know I must pay for it now, one way or the other. Course, everybody does in the final analysis. They were very, very beautiful. On the encouraging side, at least two people have recently said I don’t look my age. Okay by me.
           The Sheriff followed me for a while, then just let me be. I stopped at the Reef for a while. I must take measures to control, if not eliminate, what has become a Sunday custom—a bender at the Reef.

           [Author’s note 2017: again, whenever I mention women, consider the times. This was the tail end of the sexual revolution and it was largely anything goes. Unit 5 was the 1955 Roadmaster, the one that cost me so much money, I finally abandoned it. George was the guy who got me in at the phone company. It took me a while to figure out which Dave I knew in Coquitlam, which was on the Canadian side. Ah, the Indian fisherman.
           The machines was a referral to the cost of repairs to my gear at the laundromat. I had not sold it yet and was essentially working two jobs. Also, I would have hit on the two hitchhikers, but I back off quickly if I don’t get a response. I’ve never had to push the issue. As for “paying for it”, I still never have to this day, so I was making my usual reference to how marriage or commitment was a form of payment.
           As for looking my age, I still don’t. But the decline is inevitable. The average woman I date (in 2017) is still 23 years younger than myself.
           Lastly, I was still unaware of the stress levels inherent in the new job. I didn’t know the connection between that stress and the number of addicts in the company. Within five years, I too, was going out for drinks after work every day or other day. But on the off days, I was at the library.]