sly meets wayback

i want to

thank you

for letting me

be myself

again

hey hey hey

jimmy

jimmy

jimmy

sitting in the backseat of billy’s sixty six chevy impala ess ess three ninety six he’s thinking to himself he’s almost mouthing the thoughts in time with the song he’s thinking

i'm digging

we’re digging

on sly and the family

stone

and it’s dark

dark

dark thirty deep into the night

jimmy he’s riding in the backseat of cousin billy’s hot rod

that hot rod it goes vroom vroom it goes rumble rumble grind grind it goes flying down some south georgia road

dark

dark dark

jimmy he is pushed back almost like the weight of his asthma upon his chest when it visits him in his dreams in his sleep pushed back into the snug black vinyl summer soft sticking to him wrapping around him humming doing the jiggle jiggle fat auntie squeeze and shake the windows down wind blowing in with that cool but warm moist air both slapping and soothing all at the same time tick tock tipping tripping tree shadows flying by wispy clouds swirling above a hazy gauze wrapped around the full moon

and there’s that something in the air that sort of creeps up into the nostrils hits a person way up in the back of the sinuses causes a person to wonder if to consider the possibility that he is rotting from the inside out

that night time out in the country earthiness a dankness a brew of life and death and that funky shit in between and hell maybe it ain’t even so much the stink really

worse

it’s more the floaty green mist that burns at the bottom edges of his eyes

that mist that sometimes just sort of drifts up and out of from some of the low lying water ditch water swamp water cypress water still ponds full of cow shit horse shit pig shit dog shit cat shit snake shit frog shit goddamn alligator shit and piss and stench that garbagesque grassy grappa from the muck

that is shaken not stirred

with a spoiled egg sulfurous sluff snaking its way over from the paper mill next county over

yeah that mist might sting just a little just a bit

hey

hey jimmy it’s just a little burn just a mild sizzle

jimmy

jimmy

jimmy he’s in the back seat he’s thirteen billy he's seventeen

jimmy

jimmy

jimmy he do idolize cousin billy

jimmy

jimmy

jimmy his cousin billy he be a hero his fucking hero jimmy’s hero his monkey see monkey do summer of nineteen seventy one south georgia cuthbert georgia outskirts thereof middle of fucking nowhere screaming down the road tar and gravel grabbing those bigass tires jimmy he is the rubber being left behind on the rough rough roughness

dance

to the music

all night long

they jimmy and billy and steve they are out for the evening they’re out for the night the night it has no boundaries there are no walls they are invisible to the world to the universe comfortably ensconced within the confines of their space ship lounge they can go anywhere as long as they’re back by morning they can be anywhere in the world southwest georgia up and down and amidst around keep the tank full keep it full enough keep this bitch rightside up and between the ditches

follow

that double yellow line double yellow line up and over and around the bend slicing up the country side splitting tree from tree slicing the cord splicing the chord ain’t gonna die bored ain’t never drove a ford

once they get into the car once they hit the road no telling where they might end up might be over down by the lake might be up further by fort gaines on the river might be deep down in the boonies southeast of cuthbert a fucking no man’s land a land of no return a lost forest a hidden valley of muck and mire loathsome lascivious evil and possible interspecies breeding

an evil

upon which even the moon would not bathe in her vile light

miles and miles of slash pine and loblolly pine and cypress and sweetgum and old old basket oak all giving off a seemingly surprised and frightened vibe alarmed desperately fighting slapping like a man would slap should he wake up in the midst of a fire ant bed where he’d fallen drunk passed out in the middle of the night alarmed slapping off swarms of kudzu some succumbing suffocating beneath the brutish crawlers their suckers stabbing deep drawing pulling long and hard from the endless pools of cellulous lifejuices

they

such a vampiritic undead

part plant

part ravenous rant

needing to be fed

and

for the folk of this dell there is no god there is no jesus walking across the water these fools they fear no fire nor brimstone upon which they would not hesitate to spit though their greedy fingers may be burned upon his sacred rustling robe they will not bow down they will not go gently anywhere

and

way out there in a land known only as wayback and smack dab in the middle of wayback there is this bar this little hootchie cootchie club this little juke joint set off just a bit from this deep running creek and sitting beneath a big old cypress sprung up back before the injun days back before kolomoki

and

inside the wayback joint nestled up against the bar that was no more than a long piece of plywood perched up on two metal drums and covered with formica tiles are the ugliest one-eyed two-eyed long greasy haired finger-missing semi-toothed scarred and mauled battered and bruised ben davis wearing goat fucking human beings both male and female and otherwise that jimmy had ever seen across his entire thirteen years

and

billy and steve dragging jimmy along they walk in to get beer they don’t seem to mind they don’t seem too bothered by the semi-toothed they just want go in grab some beer share some snarls shift some shoulders slide some attitude twelve busch beers ice cold caught up in a paper bag they leave money on the formica they leave through the sort of door they had come in

get back in the car slide back onto the road tires slipping sliding cherry bomb bursting

bill and steve they just want  to cruise down there and amongst them spinning wheels spinning feels fucking with the jacks looking for jills

they just have a hankerin’ to just be fucking with them

a dangerous game

sort of maybe

sometimes well it seems that it just has to be played like that like there is nothing else nothing else at all cuz it’s all hey they are there billy and steve are here billy and steve they gotta go fuck with them wayback boys that’s the way it’s always been that’s the way it is that’s the way it will be it’s simply some dumb redneck interbreeding tribal reality

they’re only following the rules

so yeah

hell billy and steve and jimmy

they’re cruising

they just drive on down the road they don’t know where they’re going they got beer they got dope they could end up anywhere as long as they’re back by morning to open the store

thou shalt not fuck with the hallowed halls of commerce thou shalt not fuck with uncle rick’s corner grocery

so yeah

they’re cruising

cousin billy he throws a bag to steve  he says glancing sideways to make sure the dumbfuck had caught the bag that he hadn’t let it fly out the window he’d done it before steve he’d done it before he’d lost a bag out the window jimmy’s cousin billy he’d stopped the car in the black fucking darkness of the night backed her up a ways maybe twenty five fifty yards made steve get out and crawl around on his hands and knees until he found the goddamn bag

so jimmy’s cousin billy he throws a bag to steve he says

roll one

jimmy

jimmy

jimmy his summer of introduction his summer that kicks it all off his own little personal summer of love summer of nineteen seventy one thirteen years old

jimmy

jimmy

jimmy where's his momma

jimmy he’s riding through the backwoods of south georgia with cousin billy and billy’s asshole friend steve

where's his momma

don't know don't know don't fucking know all he knows all jimmy knows all he knows is that right now right this very moment he feels good yeah he feels lost and he feels bad but he feels it all frothing to and fro he feels love he feels hatred he feels sick to his stomach might have been the beer he’s sitting back head leaning back looking down over across his nose he can see the big glowing green speedometer they’re riding along soaring along

now it’s ninety

now it’s a hundred and five

billy low riding it two hands on the wheel head back steve’s leaned over billy won't let him roll up the windows billy tells steve he says

i’ll kick your fucking ass if you lose any weed in the wind

steve he leans over the bag between his legs on the floorboard trying to clean out the seeds and stems shit it's fucking nineteen seventy one shitty mexican brown weed

all seeds and stem

goddamn

sly and the family stone in the eight track

jimmy he’s digging sly stone and the family

and steve he finally sits up with a big old joint clenched in his teeth like clint fucking eastwood chawing his cheroot he looks at billy for approval but billy he just glances over at him then brings his gaze back forward steve he leans back down flicks clicks shakes the zippo clicks flicks steve he lights the bone on the third fourth try

up and down the city road

in and out the eagle

that’s the way the money goes

pop goes the weasel

as he sits up

a seed pops and its fire arcs over his gut onto his cheap hippie indian cotton gauze shirt that he bought beginning of summer up in atlanta down in the underground in some sleazy stand selling tee-shirts and black light posters just a few doors down from where lester maddox sold his ax handles

and

this shirt it puffs up into a mini mellow yellow and blue mushroom cloud of flame and smoke and he steve he yells slaps at his stomach smoke a’risin’ set this house a’fire burnt cotton and hair stench drifts into the backseat

billy he says shaking his shaggy head he mutters he says

you fucking idiot

and

steve he looks down at his exposed belly he shrugs he passes the joint to billy takes a breath passes the joint to billy re-establishes process re-applies structure adheres to ritual there is order in passing of the joint in the car

one of the first lessons of the summer for jimmy joint passing one oh one doobie goes counter clockwise from passenger to driver over driver's right shoulder to back seat across back seat back up to passenger can't go clockwise that ain’t safe

it ain't safe

to pass the joint to the driver from the backseat even a stoner has rules of some sort or another

even a stoner has rules

sly stone on the eight track

sometimes i'm right and i can be wrong

my own beliefs are in my song

sly stone on the eight track

roll another one just like the other one cocksucking mexican brown jimmy he don't know if he’s stoned or tired he’s thirteen what the fuck do he know he’s just trying to be cool because billy he's cool jimmy don’t you know he thinks billy is cool what the fuck why not he’s the baddest man in the woods

earlier in the summer earlier in the summer billy he hands jimmy a joint he says hey hey hey when jimmy when he hesitates billy he says

hey hey have i ever done anything that would do you wrong

and

to jimmy them's powerful words that he swallows that jimmy he swallows that he drinks

so he just fucking takes the joint in nineteen seventy one that shit so forbidden so exotic down in south georgia he might as well have been fucking a nigger girl bringing her home introducing her to his momma

where's his momma where's jimmy’s momma

it ain't safe to pass a joint to the driver from the backseat billy he passes it back over his shoulder to jimmy and jimmy he takes a long hot gravelly hit he rolls his head looks out the window notices a couple of old white clapboard houses set off back behind a couple of big oaks they begin to slow down

then

pretty quickly

they pull into leary little dipshit town it’s got a square it’s got a feed and seed store it’s got a drug store it ain’t got no piggly wiggly on the outskirts it barely got a texaco station the sign it’s leaning over into the parking lot the result of a tornado blowing through last summer they ain’t never got it fixed

jimmy he can't tell the difference between

cuthbert and leary

the only thing he knows the only thing jimmy can tell the only thing he knows is that billy he tells jimmy that the cool people live in cuthbert the rednecks live in leary

that’s the way it is that’s the way it will be

so jimmy he’s good with that there needs to be a them to his us

cuthbert the county seat they be cool they be the center of the uni-fucking-verse billy’s momma jimmy’s aunt betty she even talks about them smart folks that just up and leave atlanta migrate down to the good life in cuthbert they got everything anyone might ever need up in cuthbert and if it ain’t there well hell they got it just over the hill in albany or just up the river in columbus

but they billy and steve and jimmy they ain’t going to albany tonight they ain’t going to columbus tonight they headed a little bit southeast they might be headed over down around leary

they take a roundabout way there they don’t go directly there they head south down through edison on down through arlington and then back around and up to leary they need time to open her up they need time to smoke some joints they need time

in the middle of a night when all they got is time when time is all they got

time and attitude and

they

billy and steve and jimmy

even then they still need time even though it burns their greedy little fingers

and

they hit leary they cross that mysterious line where not-leary ends and leary begins they enter the incorporated city of leary georgia population more than they got fingers and toes but less than the stray cats and dogs that wander the paths and nooks and crannies of said sleepy hollow

and

they cruise leary

sly on the eight track windows down street lights glowing bright on the street the main street the only street they drive around the square sly he sings alongside the big bass of the impala four barrel pouring through those cherry bombs a couple of parked cars some kids out leaning back up against the cars a couple of cute halter top wearing girls sitting up on the hoods they exchange glances with billy steve jimmy they exchange glances looking up looking down in a studied yet not giving a flying fuck manner

they hang a right off the square

sly he croons

i am no better

and neither are you

we're all the same

whatever we do

they billy and steve and jimmy they do leary they hang a right off the square they take a couple of turns the road it ain’t so well put together the houses they ain’t so well put together they billy and steve and jimmy they’re cruising nigger town

even the smell changes as they dip down off the high ground down into the lower side of town the downwind side of town where even this downwind breeze stops blowing causing the stink to simply settle

and

the images they like dissolve from almost full color even in the dark all three dimensional all lit up from below up on the high road above to a more faded sepia photograph found in grandma’s old books but these houses not in the picture these faded houses in real life downtown leary nigger town they got dust covered cadillacs and buicks parked in front some new most old and in various degree of decrepitude

steve he  throws his mostly empty beer can out the window hits one of these cars parked on the shoulder

the beer can it hits with a splat it hits with a dull thud and a splat and a bounce and a rinse repeat dull thud splat

the impala almost on idle the south georgia cracker rod moving along so slowly the cam spinning so slowly jimmy he feels like he’s on some boat drifting across the morning gulf swells then billy he in a mood in one of his got a burr up his ass needs to let the world know that his ass it itches it burns billy he kind of suddenly shoves it into neutral revs the engine slams it down into low gear ratchet shifter beneath the palm of his right hand slams it down into low gear during the peak of the rev leaves a patch of rubber squeals barks steve throws another beer can out the window this one had a lot of beer left you can tell by the thud as it hits another car

them boys they hear a yell some bodiless voice of midnight anger august rage

hey you white cracker motherfucker

billy bug eyes his head cocks like some hound dog that just heard something ain’t nobody else heard big ess ess three ninety six spins donuts in the middle of the road dust and gravel spraying the other cars jimmy he’s thrown around the backseat they billy and steve and jimmy they're screaming back up the road toward the voice jimmy can see two black boys older than him younger than billy they’re running off down the road the cuthbert boys catching up to them the leary black boys they're on the road they're running headlights on their back

they're running

one looks over his shoulder

they're running

jimmy can see his eyes they are white wide in the light the leary black boys run past the line of parked cars where niggertown begins to end the leary black boys they they move to the shoulder billy slides the ess ess onto the shoulder billy is driving on the shoulder now dust spraying behind out from under the big wide whitewalled raised letter sixties they the cuthbert boys they’re spinning a bit fishtailing a little in the clay the hard clay shoulder steve is yelling he says

run the motherfucker over

jimmy he’s yelling at billy he says

goddamn billy you’re going to hit them

jimmy he’s screaming for billy to stop billy he can't hear jimmy and jimmy he’s yelling jimmy he’s crying steve is yelling to run the niggers over they the leary black boys they dive off into the ditch

a swampwater ditch

they jimmy and billy and steve they hear the splash they hear the cussing coming rising up from the ditch billy slams on the brakes the two leary black boys are climbing out of the ditch eyes go wide

as steve shows slides the long barrel of a pellet gun up so it can be seen through the window

the two leary black boys duck back down

there is another splash a shit fuck goddamn muffled holler

billy slams the gas the ess ess she squeals off peels off

they jimmy and billy and steve they’re back to the square on the main street in a couple of minutes and after a couple of slip and slides around the leary street corners leaving a little bit of cuthbert rubber on leary streets might as well take a shit on the mayor’s front porch they’re out of leary back on the road to cuthbert sly still on the eight track

you love me

you hate me

you know me and then

you can't figure out

the bag i'm in

jimmy he’s crying quietly little sobs quick little gasps trying to catch his breath a couple of tears streaking down his cheek billy doesn't see jimmy he doesn't hear him billy he doesn't really care he and steve are laughing it's dark jimmy he’s crying jimmy he’s scared

fuck fuck fuck

eighty

eighty five

ninety

ninety five

hundred

hundred and five

i am everyday people

they are singing

steve and billy they are singing with sly stone

there is a long hair that doesn't like the short hair for being such a rich one that will not help the poor one different strokes for different folks and so on and so on and scooby doobie doobie do

jimmy he ain’t singing

fuck fuck fuck

sitting in the back seat of billy’s chevy impala es es three ninety six billy is seventeen jimmy he’s thirteen it’s nineteen and seventy-one

fuck fuck fuck so very sly nigger town everyday people and all that