A Long Dark Highway, continued

The cold metal barrel of my Glock was hard against the small of my back, where it was stuck in my waistband. She knew I had it, I always did, and she knew I'd use it, I usually did. I tried to open the driver's car door, it was locked. I slowly put the key in and turned the lock, my hand slowly opened the door, I wouldn't put it pass her to blow us both up for spite. As I stepped in, her perfume enveloped me, I missed that fragrance, and the feelings that came with it.

"So, come here often?" I ask in my best tough guy voice.

"I would really like some bacon and eggs." she said without eye contact.

Bacon, I thought, damn, I forgot bacon with my eggs. "If you want a meal, you better hurry before the rush starts."

She looked at me, a shy smile across her lips, "I forgot your stupid, dumb-as-a-rock humor. Let's go, we can talk inside."

Ambrose looked funny at me as we walked to a booth in the back. "Same as I had, Ambrose, except add some bacon."

She said, "I need to freshen up." Ambrose pointed to the other end of the diner. As she walked away from us, Ambrose smiled and said, "Wow, she is gorgeous, you sure work fast."

"An old fiend." I said.

"You mean an old friend?"

"No, fiend, she took the 'our' out of friend a long time ago."

A Long Dark Highway

This late at night the highway seems void and endless. This night is starless and the asphalt stretches out before me sucking up the glow of my headlights. My eyes ache as they strain to see ahead of me, my mouth is dry and my stomach growling. Lightening flashes in my mirror as I notice a faint glow of lights ahead of me.

I pull into an all night diner, you have seen them, sitting there like they were back in the 60's, needing a fresh coat of paint and someone to wash the windows. This one was one of those that looked like an old passenger train car that derailed and came to rest next to a couple of huge boulders. As I turn off the engine and lights, I look inside and see only the cook behind the counter, dressed like Mel from the TV show "Alice", cigarettes rolled up in his t-shirt and a goofy hat on his head. Something looked familiar about him, I couldn't place it, but it put me at ease about going in.

I looked around as I walked through the front door, the booths are lined up along the front of the place, with the red stools standing attention around the counter. A round glass case is sitting there with a couple of pies left in it. I sit next to the pies at the counter, the red stool is pretty comfortable, the vinyl squeaked as shifted my weight. The place was surprisingly clean compared to the outside, the chrome sparkled, the air clean, the coffee hot.

I found out that Mel's name was really Ambrose, and that he quit his job on Wall Street, bought this diner, and the rest, he said, was history. He said he loved what he was doing, meeting people and filling their stomachs. He filled mine very well with two eggs, hash browns, biscuits and gravy, a piece of lemon pie, and more coffee. I had miles to go before I slept so I had to bid Mel, I mean Ambrose, goodbye.

The early morning air was crisp and awakened the senses. I stood outside the door and breathed in a couple of deep breathes, and turned to waved at Ambrose. As I turned I noticed the reflection in the front window. I could clearly see that someone was in my car, and I could clearly see that I knew who it was. How could she find me here, and at this time of morning?

Dreams and Memories

It was a fond memory, or a dream, either way I know that I'm fond of it. It was a simpler time before life grabbed hold and threw me down a path to where I am, to what I've become.

I loved that time of my life, and I loved often. Hearts were broken, mine and theirs, and hearts were set afire with passion. Or should I say lust. We would walk the railroad tracks to "our private spot" and spent the day encased in each others arms, and the quilt. The birds sang to our beat, the wind played its melody as it swept across us, nature turned off the sounds of the world so we could listen to each other's heart beat.

That is until the train came by, shattering our world, pulling us back to reality. I can still see the eyes of two older ladies who sat in the third passenger car, two rows from the back, as they realized what they were seeing. Was it disappointment in this younger generation that glared back at me? Was it disgust? Was it envy? Was it a fond memory, or a dream, that they remembered from years past?

We laughed, hoping our grandparents weren't their friends, and started back down the railroad tracks to my car. She looked up at me and said something like this, "I don't think I will ever have another day as good as this one." I don't know about her, but life did get sweeter with a few sour spots along the way. What I could tell her now is that love, true love, is much sweeter than lust. That lust, no matter how good it is, lasts for only the moment, love lasts forever and a day.

It may be a fond memory, or a dream, but it is unique to me, for me. One of millions that has piled on day after day, made just for me. And when these memories come flooding back, I smile and once again relive that moment in time.

Review: Give The Lady A Ride

I'm beginning to realize something, I enjoy the work of new authors over the over-published pros. With the old pros you get the same ole same ole. With a new author you have no expectations and usually I enjoy the book more than the pros. I've posted on a couple of other authors who fell into this category that I've had the privilege to converse with, to drop names K.M.Weiland, Michael Snyder and John Robinson, and their books were excellent. Now you can add another name to that list, one that some of you may already know, Linda W. Yezak.

I posted a few months back that her book was being published and posted a trailer for it. Well, it has been out for a couple of months and I finally got around to reading it, and I was pleasantly surprised. I really liked it. There have been too few books that when I finished that last page I wished there was a few chapters more. There have been even fewer books that when I finished that last page I already missed the characters in it. This book did that for me.

I guess I identified with the main character, Talon, because he is a chick magnet. He is also a cowboy, a real ranch hand, cow puncher. Being an Okie and having real cowboy blood flowing through my veins, I quickly and easily identified with him.

I'm not going to give away the plot or the characters, but you can probably guess the plot as it's a romance but you won't guess the twists that Linda crafted so well. The characters, especially the cowboys, are believable and the descriptions of the various locations, from rodeo arena to bunk house, was well written.

Linda, congrats on a good book, and following your dream. I'm patiently waiting on the sequel or whatever else you may put into words. I hope you continue to enjoy your marketing and all aspects of your writer's journey.

Hot In Okieland

It's so hot here the egg won't fry on the sidewalk because it's already hard boiled before you can crack it open. It's not the heat that is so brutal, but the 30 and 40 mph wind that seems to never die out. I now know what a blast furnace feels like.

It's so hot here that the other day the farmer that runs cows next to my place lost his herd. He had planted popcorn, it got so hot it all popped, the cows saw all that white popcorn on the ground, thought it was snow and froze to death. I tell ya, its brutal here.

The weather report might as well be a recording: Hot and sunny. It's been too hot to do anything for two months and the weatherman says it might really warm up next week. Doesn't it ever rain in this barren desert? We've had 2.88 inches of rain this year. The grass is as dead as in winter, at least I don't have to mow.

A buddy missed his cat sneaking into his car the other morning. When he went out to lunch the cat had swollen up to the size of a shopping bag and exploded all over his Lexus' leather interior. He told the kids it ran away. Now when you walk by his car it smells like Kibbles and S@%#.

Tried to run some errands after work. Wore shorts and sat on the black leather seating in the ol' car. I thought my butt was on fire. I lost two layers of flesh.

If someone else wise cracks, "Hot enough for you today?", I may be calling you for bail money.

A little update:

The Southwestern part of Oklahoma has been put into the "exceptional drought" category. That's about as bad as it gets on a climatological scale. 33% of the State is effected in this category. As you move east it is less severe. According to the stats, this is the driest year since 1921. Dust bowl was in the 30's after years of drought and over farming of the land.

Why I Don't Write Poetry 2011-4

They tell me its all in the eyes,
Truth or maybe lies,
In the eyes are no guise.

Differ I will, differ I must,
With much disgust, distrust.
For my belief is honorable and just.

The eyes are noble and able.
They cause trust, can disable,
One look and know if you are stable.

So look me in the eye if you will,
What do you see, a thrill or a chill?
Maybe the skill to kill?

What you see today may differ tomorrow,
They could be filled with joy or sorrow.
What will the soul borrow?

For in eyes beauty can be seen.
Sparkling, bright, and clean.
Whether in a dinner gown or blue jean.

The eyes are what we gaze upon.
Judging whether a swan or a Khan.
What do you trust on?

Why I Don't Write Poetry 2011-3

A fly
On a window screen
Working to get out,
After working to get in.
Spending it's short life
Within a fraction
Of it's goal

A man
In a cubical
Working to get out
Forced to get in
Spending his short life
Insignificant
A shadow

The difference
May not be clear
Similar destiny
A fly lives
With wings on earth
A man get wings at death
And flys