The Ghost of My Grandfather's Bewick

I had been given my grandfather's enormous bewick when he died. There was still a packet of his pipe tobacco, a tube of his mustache cream and a little bowie knife in the glove box. These three things summoned the ghost of him into the car as i drove and it seemed to me that he was protecting me. I wished to go hungry until dinner to save money to walk the hills of san francisco, asking at every bookshop and bar for a job. Nothing was available, at least not for me. For a month, i had the upper bunk in a chinatown youth hostel, a life swept clean of family and friends, and emptiness that i could fill in