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Oldham joined us, wanting to talk to me.Ned thanked me for helping with the shoveling, excused himself and went upstairs. Shirley busied herself with photographing the snow while Mr. Oldham told me he had asked some people to meet that morning regarding the Atlanta building and wanted me to join them.Well, so much for talking to Marcie as I had planned. We had breakfast, kissed the ladies goodbye and left. I was a little surprised to see John Oldham dressed the same as me, corduroy slacks, sweater, boots and leather coat. We drove my car.The heat had been turned down because the office was technically closed for a few days. We made a pot of coffee and kept our coats on. Mr. Oldham opened the meeting by thanking us for coming in.It soon became apparent to me that the news of my efforts in making the Atlanta building a reality had reached the company. In turn, Tom Pierce from engineering, Donna from accounting, and Wanda the analyst, each congratulated me on my success. I was almost. The trees were bursting with the growth of new leaves and everything looked green and fresh, a contrast to the dark and decaying neighborhood where I rented an apartment. I was a student at University, and I had just purchased on a whim a book of poetry titled, “The Days Run Away Like Wild Horses Over the Hills”, by an author I’d never heard of named Bukowski. He’d go on to be a cult hero among disaffected college students and wanna be poets. I was hungry for experience in those days, and filled with the burning desire to learn the ways of love. My aged companion had brought a bag of bread crumbs for the pigeons that he distributed to the cooing horde with admonitions to share with each other, which the greedy birds ignored. As the morning progressed, he emptied out his bag and the nasty grey beggars lost interest in him, while I would read a poem and watch the lady joggers bounce by. I was shy and young then and not so bold with my gazing at the girls, yet nevertheless I drew not.
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