station to station.

They’re fast; I’ll admit that right now. Faster than I ever was and surely faster than I’ll ever be again. Can’t go backwards. Fast and mouthy and lippy and full of shit. Most of them. If it was possible I’d camp out at night near their homes and shoot them one at a time, right in the fuckin’ kneecap and then stand over ‘em while they bled out. Fuck ‘em. The economy of motion, man. The economy of motion. Save up a little for the later rounds in life or you’ll be fucked. It’s the truth. Nothing worse than a fifty-year-old drunk. That fucker’s got no legs. It’s like a shitty life out in the valley somewhere, pretty soon you’re caught up in some shit and going to church on Sunday and believing it. You’ve got to know when to say when, to slow down and just fuckin’ relax. Took me a long time, and I still don’t know it always.

I remember sitting at a lookout just off the I-80 and thinking while I was sitting there that I had to get going. Then later on wondering why I hadn’t just sat there a while longer. On the road nothing much matters in terms of time but I’ve always made the time and then once there thought, what the fuck?

I’m still game. I really am. And I’ll keep up even if I have to hack up a lung to do it – it won’t be pretty but I gave up on looking good a long time ago. The sun still hits my face through the windshield whether it’s clean or dirty. It makes no difference. As long as I can see where I’m going.

My garbage can smells like a shitwagon so that tells me it’s time to take it out and dump it. I don’t know where as the regular dump spot has become a fuckin’ drag. I’ll figure something out. Have to bury it above the water table so it doesn’t letch into the drinking water – don’t shit where you eat kinda thing.

I’m tired and need a long sleep. Long and dark and quiet and dry.