We walked down the thicket path to Main street, keeping our heads low, covertly peeking through the clearings of foliage. Old vehicles – some military – were lined up on both sides of Main, one after another, their engines running. Men with assault rifles sat on the bumpers, taking turns patrolling the street, slowly turning their heads in 180 degree arcs, ready to defend the flanks. Some remained on standby inside their vehicles; others were crowded onto the attached flatbeds, sweating profusely and guzzling down beers. A rough looking crowd covered in war tats and wearing mismatched uniform attire, like they were going deer hunting after a weekend military exercise.
Category: Reposts
Rendezvous
I had no reason for being there so late, not a legitimate one. The school day had ended two hours earlier, and the hallways were cleared by now, not even one student dragging his or her feet. Bus #253 – the late bus – was already gone, and so I was on my own. Home was close, but too far to walk.
Miss Dupre – my French teacher – spotted me in the corridor after locking her office door. She’d already driven me home countless times in previous weeks, and I was positioning myself for yet another late day ride with her.
Breaking the mold
Break the mold, she told me. Do something adventurous and bold. And so I broke with her that day. Just like that!
Told her I was off to being exciting, provocative, and bold. And for a moment, she just stared: open-mouthed, eyes dilated, and face in a flush.
The return
The dreaming writer and his muse enter the garden, leaving their fig leaves at the gate. Now alone and denuded of all manner of covering, they are happier beyond belief, for there are no longer the obstacles of shame and separation, nor the judgments of others. There is only the writer with his imagined muse, dwelling and playing within God’s heavenly garden, where every tangible need is provided for.
Dad’s cloud
The local townsfolk call it Old Albert’s Place, located on the north side of the crater, near the bunkers, a few miles off of Route 18. “Can’t miss it,” they tell me with raised eyebrows. “Just follow the dirt road to the end. It is still passable, despite the winter rains last year. Watch out for the potholes and radioactive stuff. Good luck, mister!”
And so I walk…
Notes from David 