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Tuesday, February 11, 2014

Time stops in the dark.

Some bad pictures of some work..


I am seeing if I can figure out how to write again. Not sure why, got a lot going on but sometimes the more you do, the more you can.  I'll probably burn out an go insane at some point but let's see if I can find some balance before then. This is first draftish...

At some point, they found themselves doing donuts in the park they grew up in.  It was not the best of ideas, but it seemed like a good one at the time.  No pain, no misery, no sorrow, just a distant sense of the need to be in the moment as the motor roared an rear tires skated across wet grass.  The tracks would disappear by spring, the headache would be gone sometime in a day or so.  A bottle of Colt 45 made them teenagers once again and it was not such a bad thing.
      Murray Strand buried his father a few weeks before and  Josh Breese poorly carried the weight of disappointment.
     The two grew up blocks apart, made fun of the same teachers, ran away to each others' houses, got drunk for the first time, loved the same women, got tattoos together, and all things boys share as they grow into life-stained men.  At times they fought, one or the other would dissappear to a new side of the country, only to be sucked back into the languid embrace of home.
     "Come by." Murray said in the message.
    "Why not," Josh figured.  It's late and everyone's in bed.  He was leaving work, a second shift at Steel America.  The man had been calling non-stop. He couldn't figure out how to be a good father, much less a decent husband.  About all he was good at was drinking and working.  Of course, the two things didn't like each other but they supported each other, a couple of codependents in a constant fight.  He figured he would just turn into an old drunk or a dead young one at some point.  He still had his pride and the silly belief he could  be a force of change but he generally killed his dreams after leaving the bar.
      "What up man?
     "Shit, same old."
     Murray and Josh embraced though it had only been a few days since they had seen each other.
     The stood on Murray's porch, watching a light rain drift down, falling like snow in the street lights.
    "Work's been kicking my ass."
    "I hear you, operator."
    Soon, they were to sharing a pack of cigarettes and reaching for the last beer.
    "Damn, I'm hungry."
    "I got an idea."
    They walked into ** Diner. It was late enough to be quiet before drunk punks stumbled in. Murray gave the man at the end of the counter $5 to play music.
    "That's how you do it there."
    It as another song about love. A man pining for his woman.  It may have been about lust but who can tell the difference.
    "Eggs are better with bacon."
    "What's Matts up to?"
    "Let's check."
    They drove over to Matts' house.  He was almost asleep but led them on a game of fifty states,
    "I bet you can't write down all 50 states."
    Josh did.  Iowa was the last one, it seemed hard to remember being wrapped up in all those other states he had driven across. He had to bum a menthol from Matts, maybe it was his girlfriend.  It went well with cheap beer.
    "Man, you should go to bed. We'll check you later."
    "Cool, bro. Good seeing y'all."
    They left and found a corner store.  Time did not exist for it had turned to the present.  They talk about relativity in physics, time and space are axises on some strange graph.  The whole problem is time is a creation of the self-aware.  Place is a fact of perceived existence.
    "That was my house."
    "Yes it was."
    They were in the playground in the park. The same place they once played baseball in.  Back before they found out about drinking and stupidity.
    "Malt liquor ain't as bad as I remember."
    "It probably is."
    Murray commented as he walked across the top of the tyke's swingset.  He always had good balance.
    "Feels good to be here."
    "That it does."
    Back in the truck, Josh decided to drive across the park.  He pressed the gas and watched the needle spike; the ass end of the truck went hither and tither until it broke free into a real donut.
   Murray held onto the handle and yelled at something.
   The moment was real and would soon be gone. Not the right thing but something needed to be done.

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