the radio was titled “The Need to be Naked.” It was fast-paced, energetic, and futuristic sounding. The tone of the song couldn’t be described as happy or optimistic. The emotion of the song was somewhat ambiguous and uncertain, and combining with the obscurity of night, reflected the uncertain future I was now speeding towards on the interstate. I didn’t know it at the time, but Amber would accompany me on future travels with her music, helping to inspire me in strange lands. My current destination was once again Lakeland, Florida.

Having no clear path forward, I retreated to what had become familiar to me, though I did not have the same optimism and excitement as the first trip. I never really fit in anywhere, but the question was instead, where did I belong? After being surrounded by outlaws and having several of the most potentially violent encounters in my life in just five months of living in Florida, the orderly nature that Wisconsin embodied no longer felt like home. I was now like a bandit, hiding away from everything that I was, and everything that I knew.

It wasn’t hard to settle back into my old surroundings in Lakeland. Jared had just gotten back a couple weeks earlier and the old apartment on Gilmore Avenue was still there, in the middle of the danger zone that somehow felt safer than many others I had encountered in Florida despite some of the things that happened there.

Ryan’s Steakhouse rehired me. I guess I left a decent impression on the management staff, at least most of them. Steve was always a mystery. I sensed bad intentions in him from the beginning, but he liked to wear masks that prevented anyone from truly knowing who he was. I suspect I made him nervous because I think I could see through him as much as he could see through me. It made me nervous as well sometimes.

My position in the kitchen had been filled by an employee that was hired during the time I was back in Wisconsin. She was a woman who appeared to be in her 40’s, and her name has been effaced from my memory. I was surprised she would take such a position remembering how they used to treat me, especially in my earlier days. I stopped in front of the kitchen window while she and Greg were in the kitchen to introduce myself.

“He saved me quite a few times in the kitchen. I trained him, though!” Greg said of me.

I was very surprised. Greg had no patience for me at all when I was a new hire, and I thought I was going to have to fight him on only my second week. When someone who was once your rival gives you praise, it’s a different kind of compliment.

Greg was even giving her somewhat of a hard time, but not quite as much as he did me.

“He has a tough exterior, but once you get past that, he’s alright,” I said to give her encouragement.

Aside from the new kitchen worker, there was also a new manager, who also appeared to be in her forties, and whose name I also can’t recall. What I remember about her most was how kind and talkative she was to me compared to the other managers, while knowing that she could probably be very sassy and direct if she wanted to.

“You’re a very nice guy, but I bet when you get mad you raise Hell, don’t you?” she remarked.

Thinking about some of my experiences in the last year and how I reacted to them, I had little option but to lower my eyes and nod my head. I was ashamed of the anger inside of me that sometimes escaped when someone externally triggered it. I was becoming more aware of the dual nature in me that also existed in everything else, but at this moment, I was still very bipolar about it rather than balanced. I thought I could get by without expressing it, but there was ALWAYS someone in my environment who would say and do exactly the right things for that side of me to come out, almost like they were baiting me. But the worst of it I had not seen yet.

My main job now was Megabar cook. I had to help prepare all the food for the buffet area instead of cooking individually ordered meals. Once in a while I was assigned a regular kitchen shift, but not nearly as frequently as before. I was also assigned some dishwashing shifts for when Bruno, AKA Mr. Slam wasn’t working.

A couple of the old cooks from before were missing. Pokie, the "goofy but very hazardous to his enemies’ health” kitchen worker who always kept life at Ryan’s entertaining was no longer around, surprisingly. He had been there for several years before I arrived. Eric, the hot-head big-mouth was gone too. The rumor was that he had been arrested. After a week or so, he showed up again.

“I’m back!” he said through the kitchen window to Greg and I during one of my rare shifts in the kitchen.

“We see that,” Greg said.

He always seemed to have a humorous response to most of what Eric said or did. I never asked Eric if it was true or not he got arrested. I just assumed he did based on our previous interactions.

Just outside of the neighborhood where I lived, E. Memorial Blvd. was always bustling with activity. Cars were endlessly traveling up and down the road. There was a 7-11, and the McDonald’s where my neighbor Rusty used to work before it mysteriously burned down the day he left. Only scorched remains existed there now. At night, it became a hub for vagrants. A man once approached me for money as I was walking to 7-11 and I treated him to a meal at the Waffle House instead. He told me about some of his past sorrows, but at least he got a good meal in him and some emotional release. I wasn’t sure what he might’ve spent the money on if I just handed it to him.

There was also a Steak and Shake on Memorial Blvd. where Jared and I would sometimes go through their drive-thru late at night and get delicious strawberry shakes from them. For us, that was probably the safest activity we could do at night. There was always a young blonde-haired girl who ironically seemed kind of reclusive working at the drive-thru window. Based on her personality, I would’ve thought a job where she didn’t have to address the public might’ve been better suited for her, but there was probably more to it than I knew. One time as Jared and I ordered our usual shakes, we saw a roach climbing on the inside window of the drive-thru that disappeared from view just before she came back. When Jared mentioned it to the girl, her response was very disconcerting.

“As long as it’s not by me I don’t care,” she said.

Certainly a health-inspector would not give a nod of approval, and neither did we. It wouldn’t surprise anyone that it was our last visit there.

Being gone from Lakeland for a month didn’t offset an incredible amount, but that didn’t mean that the future didn’t have other twists. There is a quote by the ancient Greek philosopher Heraclitus that states, “The beginning is the end.” I’m sure as with nearly all things this simple statement can be interpreted in many ways. The way in which it resonates with me most is that first thoughts and first impressions can go a long way. If what I had seen at the beginning of my stay in Lakeland holds up to that idea, then the most dangerous threat to my life was still standing right ahead of me, staring right at me with cold, piercing eyes.