some early lunchers headed across the street to the diner a horn and a wave from the cab of the truck as it rumbled by a couple of buzzards circling out over the lot out behind the feed and seed
a dog part hound part lab part shepherd chases after a squirrel running into the street another honk of a horn a squeal of the wheels the dog returning to the sidewalk
ron johnson his mom she says placing a hand on his shoulder she says your daddy he'll be here shortly ron johnson he nods he says
yeah
ron johnson he watches the road nothing else to do hands in his pocket he watches the road he glances up at the sun glances over to the big magnolia a couple of crows screaming down at a large jay who perches two branches below ron johnson he notices but doesn't remember
one day when he cares he will
remember
he will remember
he looks out the the lawn looks out into the far afternoon haze through the window of his discontent out onto a place where faeries and tinkerbells flitter and fart about the forest floor about the blooms here and there iris and daffodil shiver and shake and shudder virgins in the convent behind the walls the crumbling walls the only thing between their chaste thighs and the marauding hordes those drunken sparkles that gorge themselves on their own arrogance on the moaning erojuices that tender sweet pussy nectar freshly squeezed acrobatting about through the air from flower to flower from thistle to whistle from stamen to pistil from chuck to fuck
from chuck to fucking fuck
staring through the window through the window staring
his discontent
turns to find the back and ever so slightly because of the angle of the stairs the top of the sheriff's head so odd to see right there down there that way uncovered beneath the late morning sun his completely bald and naked head scattering razors of bright emptiness when the near noon time rays happened to bounce his way the light giving shape form to the contours of his pinkish skull a slight dip a little more than a mere indentation but much too subtle to claim the crown of crater perhaps a curious concavity when set upon by apollo
perhaps it doesn't exist at all maybe it's merely a projection of the motherfucker's sordid soul his acceptance of the simple state of being that is his own personal inferno here this day hell here any day at this county seat that is jesup where he lives comfortably where he only does what he must doesn't reach up doesn't frown down
and ron johnson he's oh kay with that he's got no problem with a man doing what he's got to do he's oh kay with a man accepting his place
but right now ron johnson he has a big case of not really caring of not really giving a shit not really giving a flying fuck he wonders if the sheriff really cares if the sheriff stays awake at night worrying about what might have been worrying about what might be
ron johnson he don't know what the sheriff does but ron johnson he himself he stays awake at night
sometimes he stays awake at night
kindling that little down deep fire
a fire of big ideas he's got loftiness in his thoughts his feelings
feelings like love love is such a big idea he feels like it feels like love feels like it's just a few words on a page sometimes elegant sometimes crude often fumbling fumbling fumbling
ron johnson he's got big ideas he's got loftiness he just can't see them where he stands he can see them on a map on a piece of paper but he just hasn't figured out how to get there how to get from where he is to where he wants to be ron johnson he has not yet found his path he has not yet found his place in the sun has not yet found his place at the table
maybe he's just an adventure or two away maybe he's an accident waiting to happen
ron johnson who just this last year walked into the dorm one night
he and his friend hoss big old hoss
the pupils of their eyes wide open and bouncing glimmering flickering oh so slightly in the overhead incandescence
walked into the dorm up the stairs to find chrono kevin eddie sitting idly in their room an album cover sitting on the bed double album unfolded a number of seeds sitting in the crack of the fold some loose shake and tight dry seeded bud decorating peter frampton's blondish tresses casting him further into some sort of three dimensional jesus wearing the crown of thorns
chrono bong in hand he said looking up he said click click clicking his bic he said hey click click clicking his bic he said taking a moment to gurgle up some smoky salvation he said
hey want to play a little twenty one we're about to put on a little lou
ron and hoss they smiled they grinned twenty one being the number of minutes a certain lou reed song would steal from the clock start to finish twenty one being the number of bong hits a participant was expected to complete to execute before that last audible downbeat of said lou reed song
ron and hoss they smiled they grinned they answered with a deafening nervous silence looking from chrono to kevin to eddie glancing and grinning at them at each other
they stood in the doorway shivering two days of freshman growth on their faces faded black swashes of grease or ash or dirt streaking cheek throat hands clothes kevin said what the fuck happened to you where the fuck you been they shuffled they rubbed their hands together on their pants into their pockets then together again ron he said
wiping a sleeve across beneath his nose sniffling back a phlegmy run for the border
he said
we hopped a train
eyes wide eyebrows raised lighter poised above the bowl
ron and hoss they said hoss he said so don't you know we were walking back from dinner just having scarfed down a couple of dagwoods feeling good feeling nice and full and happy lighting up a jay when some sort of premonition came over us like we had been thinking about it the whole time like we were cassidy and kerouac with an ethereal plan with a command from elijah
ron he said yeah there we were all soaking in this evening love when here comes this fucking freight train
the train slowing down as it rounded the bend coming onto campus down near the old depot this old rust colored box car just kind of cried out to us to me and hoss with its big yellow letters declaring
goldkist
might as well have been the yellow neon out front of the plaza theater tempered by a bottle of codeine or a handful of disco biscuits
hoss he said looking at ron like whoa where did that come from hoss he said its big sliding door already open like an invitation to some sweet sixteen spread her legs party we me and ron we thought we'd just jump on go a couple of miles down the track then hop off catch the next one coming back toward campus maybe a couple of hours next thing we know we're fucking rushing through the west fucking georgia countryside cold air streaming through the slats the smell of ratshit catshit hoboshit gagging and choking us as we traveled through the night the train not stopping until we were somewhere the fuck well into alabama
and hoss he said nodding at chrono for a cigarette chrono tapping out a marlboro tossing it over with a lighter hoss he said lighting the cig inhaling he said
yeah and ain't neither one of us too comfortable that far down in alabama
got so cold in that fucking train we hugged each other grabbed hold to each other like two midtown fags
ron he said now returning the what the fuck glance back at hoss ron johnson he said yeah fucking cold he said if i had had a knife i would have slit him open and crawled inside i would have got all call of the wild with his big ol' loving self
ron he said and the goddamn train so fucking loud rambling down through those woods and fields we screamed at the top of our lungs couldn't hear a thing couldn't hear ourselves think just the clackety clack and squealing of metal on metal the whistling of the wind
for hours and hours forever it seemed
hoss he nodded hoss he said fuck we stumbled out into that goddamn next day frosty dawn when that fucking shit stained slave ship finally slowed to a squealing crawl smack dab in the middle of a bunch of tracks all coming together in the dull morning light we had no idea where we were trying to figure out from whence we came trying to figure out which track led back to atlanta
the only hint that we were in alabama really the only clue was this glimpse of an empty bama state patrol car parked fifty yards away over by some depot looking shack
ron he said yeah some slim stream of smoke or steam sliding out of and up from a rusted pipe snaking out of kind of nailed to its ashen wooden side
some old black man wearing two sunday coats a brown felt bowler and boots with no strings came out between two trains popped out like hamlet's fucking daddy of a ghost nearly pissed my pants scared the shit out of me but old hoss he asked him he said ha he was we was so fucking cold he had his hands tucked deep into his pockets his shoulders all hunched up around his ears he said excuse me he said hey can you tell us which train goes back to atlanta
the room burst into laughter stoned giggles bursting into guffaws hoss he said what the fuck else was i gonna ask he didn't seem to be in a small talk mood
ron he laughed he pointed at hoss ron he said old hoss he looked at that old black man old hoss he said hey
which way is home
hoss he blushed turned red shrugged the room it shrugged its agreement hoss he said well this old black man
he stopped he looked around he looked at us two pitiful souls standing helpless there in front of him he looked at the direction from where we had just walked he rubbed his chin in that well let me just take out my trig book i'm sure
the answer is right there
in front of me
but he didn't say a word he thought maybe a full-count minute he shrugged he started walking again
me and ron we're like what the fuck but then the old black man
he stopped he pointed
at the train we'd just departed then he walked on his way never having said a word we me and ron scrambled back into our goldkist cruise liner and hunkered down
ron he said with a little bit of after shiver he said
that was yesterday we just got back
chrono he shrugged he flicked his bic he fellated the bong he looked up he said his words flowing into and out of a cloud of ganjaesque concern he said
whoa well welcome home glad you didn't get raped i mean i hear that there's all sorts of queer hobo rapists riding the trains
ron he said where the fuck did you hear that
chrono he shrugged he said i hear things don't you know
ron and hoss they each took a turn on the bong before wandering out of the room and down the hallway the stench of rodent feces hobo piss dinty moore lingering behind perhaps permanently on chrono's comforter on the faux hippie tapestry that hung in the doorway
the taint meandered behind them as they turned the corner past the bathrooms one guy walking out all freshly scrubbed and nattily if not preppily adorned in his ess ay ee monogrammed terry coth robe scrunching his nose turning pale saying what horse you been fucking
they ron and hoss they ignored him they walked away from prep boy he in the opposite direction walking upstream into yesterday's adventure its stain neutralizing the hai karate
ron he looked over at hoss he said so hoss man we had a big idea we just couldn't figure out how to get there hoss he said what do you mean man we made it there and back ain't too many can say that
don't you fucking know
ron he paused and then he went on into his room
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