A German blond and a group of men talk gardening while one of them polishes off a salad on a styrofoam plate. A couple of handfuls of chopped iceberg, mealy tomatoes, and peppers, it looks positively anemic. "No man with a steady woman gardens to eat those vegetables," says another. "Have you seen how big a zucchini can get?"

Vinnie tells stories about his mobile home filled with Harley parts, the house he bought and lost to foreclosure, and the union gigs during Boston's Big Dig and at Jeep factories. And about wanting to be a hairdresser when he was young. "Then that movie Shampoo came out," he says. "And I couldn't be a hairdresser anymore. Fucking punched me in the side."

Vinnie has been working union jobs since age 16. "Back then, I earned $11.75 an hour. That was a lot of money in the '70s." He says he's kept the pay stubs of every job he's ever had and suggests it's fodder for his memoir, which "someone needs to write," he says, "starting with when I set the school bus on fire..."

As the storytelling meanders from Boston to Buffalo to Orlando and Oregon, I ask him where he considers home.

He pauses. "You're gonna make a grown man cry in a bar. I do not know."

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2 comments
nobody
nobody

Do you not know enough to be ashamed of yourself for exploiting your --frankly unknown-- uncles?

 
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