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They must have smelled me coming. All eyes was on the door by the time I entered. |
A slow drunken sunrise stumbled blindly down a windy dirt road; gently pushin the sun atop an old Chevrolet pick-up truck. It's ass,,, was haphazardly backed into the woods. Why, it looked like an old Bull-Walrus sleepin off a holy rage. Drops of condensation slid devilishly along the fenders. They was belly surfing and smilin up at the dawnin day. Big block motor from Detroit still piss warm after a long night drivin through the back roads of the Missisippi basin. "Hey Yankee-boy, Looks to me like it's a mighty fine day for dyin. What you think?" ---------PAUSE------- "Cat got your tongue Yankee-Boy?" "That don't matter,,, I'll probably pull it out anyhow." "Never did like that damn Yankee-jabba. Makes me real mean and nasty." Don't ask me where, why or how . I was thirsty. I stopped into a small gin-joint past a broken Stop-sign. They must have smelled me coming. All eyes was on the door by the time I entered. I met them head-on,,, one, by one, by one. I walked up to the bar, my knees was shakin. I ordered a large whiskey. Maybe it was a bit too large. "Don't know as I can serve you Yankee-Boy." "Oh Leroy, don't be so darn ornery, Give this haaaandsome young man a drink." "Buella-May, if you was'nt sherrif Jo-Bobs wife, I'd bounce you right on out of here myself along with you're handsome Yankee-boy." My whiskey went down fast. I bought one more. Buella-May's hot, moist breath, licked up and down my ears and throat. The heat rose by ten degrees. Buella-May asked me what I was doing in this waste-hole of a town. I told her that was a long story. I lied. The real story was short and sweet. I was one step ahead of my past, and it was catching up to me. After that,,,a whiskey train hit me like a golden hammer. BANG, BANG, BANG, one after the other. Maybe it was all part of the plan. I don't know. Just like I can't tell yu where Buella-May's hot breath tapered out and her long slinky legs began. I do know one thing though. I woke up this morning in the back of a pickup truck on a long and windy road in Missisippi. My hands and my feet are bound up tight with strong rope and the words still ring in my ears...... "Hey Yankee-boy, Looks to me like it's a mighty fine day for dyin. What you think?" "Hey Yankee-boy, Looks to me like it's a mighty fine day for dyin. What you think?" "Ha, Ha, Ha!!!" |