What happened to Tim?

Tim is a hall of fame friend of the past whom I only speak with rarely and only when I call him. This happens every couple years or so. In 1993, we were both supposed to leave our hometowns together - via motorcycles - and head out to California. Tim never found a way to leave the east coast or even leave his hometown for that matter. Well, actually, Tim did leave his hometown of Easton for 7 years or so. He somehow managed to live in Manhattan for 7 years where he perfected the art of going from an active working member of society to being a drunken mess to finally leaving NYC destitute and moving back in with his parents. It kind of makes me think of Sid Barrett, the deceased founder of Pink Floyd. One night, during a performance, Sid quit, stepped off the stage and walked home 30 miles or so where he lived out the rest of his days with his mum. This same fate seems to have befallen my old chum Tim. It would have been cooler if Tim Just walked home to Easton from Manhattan one grey, rainy October day: Hair all crazy, a forty gripped by his right hand firmly enough to whiten knuckles, a determined stride but just off-balanced enough to give the aura of danger. Yeah, it is sad whichever way you slice it but that’s how I’d have wanted it to go down. Instead, Tim found a way to delay his inevitable return to Easton, for 2 additional years without paying rent or electricity or water. Yeah, the electric company turned off his electricity right away but don’t worry about that one; that is what neighbors and extension cords are for, right? He and his brother Denis, squatted their own apartment, using candles for light and taking showers with a hose connected to a kind neighbor’s faucet. Life was pretty sweet until the cops finally showed up armed with eviction papers, pepper spray and handcuffs. Time to scram. Tim’s fortress of empty 40 oz cans and amber bottles failed miserably to protect him but it sure made a nice temporary monument to celebrate his quest for self-destruction.