Back in June 2016, I started a new "series" of posts... if you will... 
 And so on Wednesdays; I've been posting an old photograph to inspire your creativity.
Write a poem!   
 Plot out a short story.
 Have inspiration for a piece of art or composition.... let your artistic soul shine.
--and occasionally I write my own sordid story or poem. 
 (you can click on the photos in this post to make it larger to see).


Billie always figured he was cursed.
Born to teenage parents, they had married because it was "the right thing to do."
But by the time he was a year old, he had been dragged back and forth between households more times than he could ever had imagined. Sad truth was, neither parent wanted him... they both had much growing up to do... and life to explore. He often was left with his great grandfather, a wheelchair bound veteran with poor eyesight.

No one knows if Billie was abducted, or if "old Sam" had merely forgotten he had the boy with him at the park and accidentally left him there... but when the rest of the family figured it out and went searching... Billie was gone.
What had happened, was a group of traveling followers of Hari Krishna had been passing by,
and Billie was gently and lovingly picked up by one of the young women in the tribe.
From there, Billie grew up on a farm in southern California.
He had several "mothers"... and lots of other children to play with; but life was restrictive, and hard.
He never went to school... and after a heated disagreement with the leader of the farm when Billie was 14; he left. By now, it was the early 80s. He was angry and disillusioned of the world.

He hitchhiked cross country several times by way of 18 wheel trucks that zigzagged him to most all the states. He got work on a cruise ship; and bar-tended his way across the oceans. His primary goal at this stage of life, was in the relationship area... and he often felt that he was the lone redheaded boy in a sea of ladies looking for that tall dark stranger... He left the ship when it was anchored in Hong Kong, and made his way through Asia. He loved the food, the country, the people. He began cooking with street vendors, and worked his way all across Europe making tasty food for folks in restaurants.
By the 90s, he had made it to Paris.

It seemed like all the "hip" folks were working in the dot com business then. And Billie felt lacking. He was a great chef, and in demand... but he wasn't raking in the big bucks or acquiring any of those other signs of success that he felt he should have accomplished by now. He wasn't married, and had no children either.... and he felt like he had "missed the boat" there as well.

Combining his love of Asia, and his skills at cooking... he opened up a cafe on the Rue de la Roquette called "Bistro Bangkok." He catered to the night crowd... the artists, musicians, the LGBT community and more. One night, in walked Coco... and it was love at first sight. Half Asian, Half Nigerian... tall, dark and swarthy.... everything he wished he had been when he was a child. He was smitten. Never mind that Coco was born "Estefan"... and was transgender. It just didn't matter. They both knew it was love, and that it was forever. Coco would sing every night behind the bar, and Billie would cook fabulous, elaborate dinners. Every night, they would stroll the Seine hand in hand to their one bedroom flat. Gone were the feelings of nothingness. Gone was the guilt that he hadn't done "well." Gone were all the presuppositions that he had put upon himself.
He was happy. And it was alright.