Not much's changed since my last journal entry. Barnaby and I are still stuck in New York like mosquiters in molassas. We'd just about scraped together enough cash for one ticket back to Mass between the two of us, when Barnaby made an interesting discovery. We'd been sleeping in the hallway of a tenement building, and one night Barnaby's looking for change under the washing machines, and he comes back all hootin' and hollerin' looking like he just struck oil. Well, turns out with the help of a screwdriver and a wire hanger, a feller can bust open the coin box in them machines. So me and Barnaby wait til the wee hours of the morning and we went and jacked all the change in that there basement. If that don't take the rag off the bush. Now we've got coin enough to take a bus to Massachusetts and back again. But we figure as long as we's got a steady income, we might as well stay in town and ourselves a hog-killin'-time. So, I'm off to barter for a nice bottle of 'oh-be-joyful' for me and Barnaby. I need to go put a little lead in my pencil.

Still in New York, picked this mobile phone on the sidewalk, scrEens broke, but the world wide web still workss

fucKING piece of yuppie garbage@
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Been a while since I got a chance to sit down and peck away at this here calculator. 'Bout a week ago old Barnaby and I finally scratched together enough change for a pair of seats on the Peter Pan to Albany. Well, we're on the trail for not more'n two shakes of goats tail before Barnaby starts crawling all around in his sweatsuit blubbering about how we got on the wrong damn bus. Tells me we passed a sign that said Welcome to Connecticut. Well, I ain't none too friendly with the Connecticut tribe, but I knew enough about those parts to tell that by god Barnaby was right. Barnaby got off his fat ass to go talk to the driver, turns out we got so damn greased up on cough syrup that we done got on the wrong bus. Now we were headed to New York city. Maybe back in my prime I might have fancied a vaudeville show and a cheap hooker, but the city's no place for a grizzled old man in these times. So here I am, in the NY public library, killing time while Barnaby's outside trying to sell a fire extinguisher we rescued from the bus station. Crystal Springs is no Great frontier, but at least there I can find a nice tree to curl up and get drunk under without getting hassled by the law, or getting pawed at by crack heads. Maybe next time I'll have some good news, but I sure as hell doubt it.

Well, lady luck decided to come and pay Josh Blackfox a visit today, and I gotta say it was a fucking long time coming. I was walking along the road from downtown to the university, hoping I might arrive in time to catch some of the leftovers that get tossed in the dumpster out back of the dining commons every Sunday. (these god damn wasteful two faced communist hippies make me fucking sick) Well, I was just reaching into my sack to fish out my bottle of old grandpappy's cough tonic, when a jackrabbit springs out of the bushes and under the wheel of a dump truck. With the help of my old hunting knife, I skinned what part of the varmint still had fur, and me and Barnaby had ourselves a nice trash can fire in the loading area behind walmart. Now I've had my vittles, its high time I made my way over to the river and found myself some place dry under the railroad tressle where an old man can rest his bones. 'Night strangers.

Well, looks like old Joshua is gonna have to weather yet another night in this yuppy shit hole. Old Barnaby and me couldn't panhandle the $40 odd dollars for a Peter Pan bus to Albany. So here's I am in the library again, pecking away at this damned machine. But my stomach is growling, so's I got to go find something to try and stick on these old ribs of mine. Hopefully tomorrow, I'll be back on the trail where I belong.

This may be my last chance to visit the university library for a couple days. Old man Barnaby woke me this afternoon to tell me that a family emergency called him westward and that he was lookin' for a companion for the journey. Turns out his daughter was draggin' their plastic Christmas tree down to the basement, when she trips over one of the dangling cords and cracks her back on the bathtub her boyfriend's cooking meth in. Barnaby's out gathering coins for bus tickets, but I got to get some scratch together if I want a bottle for the ride. Until next time, stay hearty friends.