"Well, that's a bit of long story," the old man sighed at he gazed longingly off into the horizon. "o'course," he continued with a shrug, "no tellin' how much of it's true in to begin with."

He dug his weathered, leathery hands deep into the pockets of his thread-bare, denim pants and stared heavily into the dirt as he mumbled, "they say…they say he was born in Missouri back in the last century. They say he spent his childhood wasting away days day-dreamin' and readin' books what ain't never done nobody no good."

The man looked back toward the heavens, "he had to leave o'course, made his way down south. I hear tell that he somehow earned a few degrees and titles at a university in Arkansas, Master o' Arts, whatever that means; afterward, they say he headed north, into the frozen wasteland. Some say he died out there amidst the snows and pines; some say he lives there still."

The ancient man looked dead into my eyes with a look of final certainty, "all say good riddance to him."