Dalton

Bathing in some stranger's shower while a former male prostitute does my laundry lecturing Sweetwater on the necessity of rinsing our filthy clothes before washing them, and how he is up every night till 3 am doing piles of strangers filthy laundry.  That is all we are to this strange man running the Bird Cage as he calls it; strangers. Little does he know how much his little token of hospitality to all of us in his home means so much and he will never be forgotten by the masses.  A non stop blur of faces in and out of his multiple bedrooms while he picks us up and spends an evening entertaining and allowing us the comfort of a home so many of us no longer take for granted after our months long excursion without one.  Sweet Sweet is still trying to wash the grey mud of Vermont from his bare feet before Rob will even let him in the house, to no avail. Even after his shower and his attested scrubbing they are still black.  But in the end with nothing more to offer than a promise of future charitable donations, Rob hugs Sweet Sweet only to be remembered so affectionately and tearfully in the near future as the greatest reward of our town stop; a hug.  The smallest amount of human affection so easily taken for granted in rush of busy city life where we shun our neighbors and avoid strangers altogether; one man's random act of kindness to another is the greatest reward for lonely, cold, wet travelers who no longer take anything for granted other than the sore aching joints, the cold of the rain, and the reward of our nightly shelter.   In the morning we leave happily walking out of Dalton, remembering it as Massachusetts vowing not to slow until New York.  We wander off.