This is in regards to the story I posted above. So,
I need to preface the following by stating that I currently work as a driver for the region’s paratransit system.
A few days ago while working in my bus, I picked up an older guy from the kidney dialysis unit at one of the Bismarck hospitals. I noticed his address where I’d be taking him to was in the southwest part of Mandan, across the river, which is the same part of town where my story’s chase scene ended.
We picked up a few more people, who were all going to Mandan, and then I took them across the river, where I began dropping them off. The last passenger to be dropped off was the guy going to the southwest section.
I noticed on my bus tablet that just below his address in the notes, it told me that he needed to be picked up and dropped off in the alley, so I began calculating how I was going to do that while dropping him off so that the exit door of the bus would be facing the correct side, to keep his walking distance short, as he had great difficulty in walking, and would require assistance.
As I turned the bus into the alley, I recognized where we were. This was the alley where I collapsed that night, and tried to throw up. It turned out that the guy I was dropping off actually lived in what I had previously thought was the shed where I had lay with my back against it. Not a shed, instead it was a very tiny old house, about the size of my living room, square in shape, and painted a dingy yellow. I honestly cannot remember the color of the “shed” I was up against that night, but my recognition alarm bells were all ringing loudly, and the paint looked very old. Hell, the very same 3-foot wire fence was still there! It was all bent up 40 years later, but it was the same fence.
Apparently he rents this little alley house/shed from the owner, who lives in the main house, which is located in a normal street-side location. This main house was the same house I had run alongside to get into the fenced-in back yard where the “shed” was/is. The main house is also where the little barking dog was.
This was exciting for me, and I really wanted to ask him how long he had lived there. He looked to be abut 75, so it was conceivable that he lived in that house 40 years ago as well. But he was definitely not feeling well, and was in a foul mood, and of course, if I asked him a question like that, he’d probably want to know why I was asking. In which case, I’d ask him if he remembered any commotion outside his window 40 years ago, which would lead to my needing to outline the story again for him, and I didn’t have time. So I didn’t ask.
It’s just amazing to me that after all these years, two weeks after I finally posted that story, I am dropping a man off at that exact location. I mean, I have not been down that alley in 40 years. What are the odds that I’d be at that very same house/shed after all this time, and just after writing everything down? After I got him into the house, I just stood there for a moment, soaking it all in. Everything appeared to be exactly as I had left it, except that now there were no snow banks.