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CHAPTER 3: RONALD Apache Vomit & Lions

Ronald had had a full life.  He'd been everywhere, done most of everything. His parents had always told him that he'd been destined for greater things, but lately, his path, though always having been rugged, had been sent on a serious detour about twelve years ago, and, currently, he was the only hobo native to the neighborhood. 

As Ronald raised his hands both to adjust his tinfoil hat, and to shade his eyes from the sun, he stood up from his park bench; His facial expression not entirely unlike a Roman boy during his first day of watching the lions and their Christian dinners, as if to say "hey, hold on a second..." as his eyes followed the naked (with exception to his left foot, anyway) newcomer. 

Ronald noted that the fellow obviously wasn't armed, nor even well equipped, but, even the Roman lions had been cautious, and thus, he readied himself to defend his humble roost.

Even as the words came out of his mouth, Ronald realized how silly a question it was.  But habits were hard to break.  "Got anything you can spare?" He asked the bleeding, limping, naked man, who was headed directly towards him.

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