This Day

I lost a hero this day in 1999. My dad passed with his wife of many years and his two daughters and surviving son at his side. He was only 76.

Many families lost loved ones this day 69 years ago. The hurt will remain in all those hearts still beating this day. As mine does.

Remember our heroes this day and also remember what makes this country the greatest in all history. The people. We are losing ourselves to mediocrity.

This day pledge to be better today than the day before. Americans are not whiners and complainers.

We are doers!

This day do.

Freaky Cloud with Attitude

The big right hand at the end of the big right arm slammed down on the counter. A fork whistled off the counter and stuck in the forehead of Jimmy Carter. Well, actually a portrait of Carter above the coffee pots to make sure crazy rabbits stay away from the coffee, hot and ready for the next customer. A plate was sent spinning much like the ones a juggler would use at the end of those long skinny poles spewing left over sausage gravy and bits of biscuit and pieces of scrambled egg like arms of a far away galaxy. The thunderclap of the slap of hand on counter made most of the folks eating their dishes of breakfast jump under tables they sat at or stopped open mouths ready
for the next bite from forks or spoons suspended in mid air.

"Hot damn Jim that was funny!" the big man said after slapping his hand against the counter.

Budreaux was certainly a big man. And not just because of his big right hand, his left hand matched. But he was one of those drivers that did all his exercising by getting in and out of the cab of the big rig he drove. He wore those Osh Kosh overalls and you could hear the buckles at the shoulder straps, "help me! Help me! I'm gonna let go. The weight! The weight!" Budreaux had a big gut, no doubt about it.

"Ya know Budreaux I saw this sign on I10 I think it was in Aridzona or New Medico. No No it was on 20 west of Weatherford in Texas. Ya know what it said?" asked Jim to his friend.

"Goddamn it Jim, just how in the hell am I supposed to know that?"

"Well, that's the thing Budreaux. It was on a billboard that had a black background with huge white letters. It went like this here: If you have to curse, use your own name, signed God."

"Well I'll be goddamned!" Budreaux explained.

"No Budreaux. Don't you get it? It's 'I'll be Budreauxdamn'".

"Well hell be! I like it!" His big hand hit the counter again. Not much was left to stick into Jimmy's forehead this time however.

"Goddamn it Jim!" hollered Maxine, the waitress from the far end of the counter. "Quit gettin Budreaux worked up with your damn silliness. He'll wreck the place."

"No Maxine. It's Jimdamn it," says Budreaux.

"Come on Maxine, ya know we're good for it. You don't wanna lose your tip do ya?" says Jim.

"Tip? Tip? don't make me laugh you cheap bastard," she said with a smile.

"Well, anyways, you know we are your favorites. Right Budreaux?"

"Damn right Maxine. More coffee please Maxine."

Maxine saunters over with the coffee pot. She pours a refill for Budreaux and Jim. And she leans over just enough to ensure a good tip. A new driver sits at the counter and she moves over to service his needs.

"Listen Budreaux I gotta finish this coffee and go do my logs before I turn in."

"Did mine already. Ya gotta do that stuff right away ya know. You gonna forget someday and it'll cost ya."

"That day has already been here and gone Budreaux. Hard lesson learned."

"I bet Jim. I bet."

Jim takes a swig of his coffee. "I learned another hard lesson as well Budreaux."

"What's that Jim?"

"Don't turn your back on a black cloud."

Budreaux just sits. Waiting. For Jim to start his story.

"Well, I was having one of those days, ya know? The wife calls and starts bitchin about this and that. 4 wheelers darting around the truck like they had a death wish. Late for the first appointment because the dispatcher gave me the wrong address. Hell, even the cat was giving me a bad time."

"How's that Jim?"

"Every time I reached for the shifter she grabbed my arm, dug in with her claws and started chewing on a knuckle, all the while her hind legs whipping against my arm like she was trying to dig all the hairs out!"

"That would surely make it hard to shift there Jim."

"Ya think Budreaux? Hell yeah it does, having a cat hanging on your arm like that."

"So what about the cloud Jim?"

"O yes, the freaky cloud with attitude. What a friggin day."

"Well, out of no where this black cloud formed over my truck. Weird it was. Full of moisture. Full of electricity. Full of mischief it was. No matter where I went it went. Kinda like Pigpen."

"That dirty kid on Peanuts?"

"Yep, only I had a rain cloud and not a cloud of dust. Anyways, it got so bad Budreaux that every time a lightning bolt struck the cat would spin in her chair like a top. At one stop the shipper said that it had been a clear sky till I drove in. Nothing like it he'd seen his whole time at that warehouse. Hell, I had to tarp in the rain seeing clear skys all around me!"

"Damn, no shit? How'd you get rid of it Jim?"

"Crap Budreaux I just started laughing. Laugh and laugh and laugh. So hard I cried. Had to pull over and set the brakes. Couldn't see for all the tears. Cat staring at me weird like. Matter of fact I told her she had such a weird look she laughed! That's when I saw sunshine through the tears. The cloud had lifted."

"Really?"

"Yessir. Finish your coffee and I'll walk out with ya. I'm done. Ain't no clouds hanging over me ever again."

Jim and Budreaux got up from their counter stools and headed out the door to their trucks. Giving a hand wave to Maxine on the way out.

Moonbeam Fence

It's a quiet night. Little wind. Down near the creek the fog is just starting to lift itself over the banks and into the tree limbs. The moon is a half circle pushing strong moonbeams over the land, backlighting the trees and making the fog a milky silver.

Not long now. Not long now. They will come.

As the night lengthens the fog gets just a little more thick and creamy. The trees stand in silent but stoic solitude. The wind begins
to move the fog into swirls and fans of rotating moziacs full of color.

Not long now. Not long now.

They will come.

The creek gurgles and bubbles around hidden rocks and not hidden rocks.
A creek song. Low. Sweet. Beguiling. A tree song is added as the wind
makes it way amongst the leaves. Soothing.

Not long now.

Not long now.

They will come.

Down by the creek forms are taking shape. Some short and upright. Some long and horizontal. They move together with the help of the wind. It is a fence. Transluscent. Wooden. The creek sings its song.

Not long now.

Not long.

They come.

Other figures form. Man like. Transluscent. Two lines of men. On each side of the milky silver fence. At opposite ends of the fence. They walk towards each other. Soldiers. From a long ago age. Soldiers.

Other sounds now. Voices. Words. In a whisper. Hard to hear. What are they saying? Like a child in bed listening to parents in another room. Can't make out what is being said.

The lines of soldiers move past each other slowly. Fog figures nod to each other. Milky silver hands reach out to other milky silver hands. They stop.

Words become more distinct. A word here. "Sorry" "Wrong" "Johnny".

A salute from one line of soldiers to the other. Is that a tear from unseen eyes? What is being said?

The wind fails. All is quiet. Even the creek is not singing now. The words come through the quiet night.

"Sorry Johnny Reb. You were right"

Moonbeam Fence

Lost and Found

O shoot!

Dadgum it!

What the hell.

Where'd it go this time?

How do things disappear like that?

In a truck! Really.

Well, it'll show sooner or later.

Sooner I hope.

Time to go.

Fire up the engine.

Do the pre-trip.

By then it should show up.

Log book up to date and hour.

Clutch to the floor to stop the clutch spin.

Slide the stick over to 2 and let it fall in.

Check mirrors. Engage clutch. Roll time.

Ain't showed up yet.

First pee break 3 hours later. Rest area.

Ain't showed up yet.

Back on the road.

Lunch break 2 hours later at a Flying J.

Walk 10 minutes to lower the a1c.

Ain't showed up yet.

Drive 6 hours straight. No trouble at any scales.

Stop for the night at a Petro.

Search the truck again.

Ain't showed up yet.

Eat a nice meal at the Iron Skillet.

Talk with other drivers.

Time for bed.

And there it is!

Just knew it would show up sooner or later.

The lot lizard knocks on the driver's door.

The Last Duel

The day began with a somber light east wind, slightly chilly, worth a long sleeved flannel
shirt or a light sweater. Dawn was just beginning, throwing a grey hue on all the trees
and shrubs and such. The birds were not yet a twitter. A light haze hung amongst the forest.

Three silent figures were making their way through the path in the woods this early morning.
One a medical doctor. One a lawyer and confidant. One a major figure in the drama about to
unfold. All three moved slowly to their combined destinies with many thoughts kept to
themselves. Utmost among those thoughts: was this necessary?

In the selected clearing two figures were already waiting. Standing side by side they
whispered a fear filled conversation. They had been waiting only minutes.

Upon arrival at the clearing the three went to the other two in the center. There the
lawyer went over the rules of the duel. The seconds brought out the pistols and made
sure both were ready. The duelists eyed one another with contempt. The lawyer once again
asked if this deed was truly needed and if an apology would yet forestall the action.
Neither duelist would offer that apology.

The dueling pistols had two shots and a silencer. As in the day of the Burr/Hamilton duel,
dueling is unlawful. But these two antagonists decided that it was the best way to restore
honor for the slight given. There will be a resolution to this duel that took months to
put together.

The duelists paced off in the center of the clearing. Each had walked off 10 paces, thus
opening an almost 60 feet between them. They turned and faced each other. At a signal from
the lawyer pistols are to be raised and sighted. At another signal shots can be fired
until all four shots are expended.

The first signal is given. Pistols raised. An almost timeless interval before the second
signal. Two shots. One shot. Silence. It is over.

Immediately the doctor goes to the fallen duelist. Dead. He goes to the standing one and
administers first aid to the shoulder wound. After that former President George H. W. Bush
is led from the dueling field. His honor restored.

First Lady Michelle Obama is wrapped in a blanket and carried to a waiting car by her
second. She stood in for her husband, Barack.

Thus ends the last duel.

Excersizing Flys

I parked this rig at a Flying J outside Cannonsburg, Kentucky. That would be on I-64 on the east side of the state just before the West Virginia border. Shutdown Saturday afternoon and here I still am late Sunday night. It's hot and humid. Green and boring. And there in lies a story.

To make any money in the trucking business one has to watch expenses. The one area that a driver has control is running the truck's big engine. The less it is ran the less the fuel used. The less the fuel is used the less amount of money spent on fuel, and so it goes. I learned this valuable lesson as an Owner Operator. Though the truck I run now is not mine and I'm a hired driver I still watch the fuel usage. It's a life long thing for me really. I hate wasting anything. Not to protect the environment. Don't give a damn either way. It's always about the money. I like this job. Don't want the boss to shut down the truck and I lose my ability to earn a buck. That said . . .

The windows are down to let any breeze into the cab and sleeper. Doors
are open as well on the sleeper. Luckily there is a good strong wind
from the west as there is a line of clouds and storms in the area. An
added benefit is the shade the clouds provide. At least the temp will be a tolerable upper 80 instead of a low 100. Humidity however is still a killer in the low 90 range. O, one more thing, the flys can now invade.

As a kid growing up in East Texas we did not live in air conditioned houses. Heck, the mall had not been invented as yet so there was no place to go to get relief by shopping. So, open windows and flys were just a part of life. One learned to live with a fly swatter near at hand. You also learned many fly swatting games. And jokes. So many flys so few hands to swat 'em.

There was the common house fly. On the walls, on the ceiling, on the table and on your food. Even on your nose! Kind of cute really. The nearest thing to a house pet of the insect world. And we tortured them to no end. Pull the wings off. Or their legs. Toss them onto spider webs. Geez we had fun as kids.

We also had the blow fly, the horse fly, the deer fly and others. They generally tortured us. Ever been bit by a horse fly? Something you
don't forget.

Well, back to the truck. I got tired of sitting in the sleeper searching the web and swatting at the flys with just my hands so I went to the TV lounge for drivers. USA network was showing a NCIS back to back to back episode afternoon. I just love that show. Bought all the episodes through season 6 on DVD. Yeah, I'm hooked.

Another driver came in to watch TV. Naturally we started a conversation. Good banter back and forth. I managed to shoo the flys from me over to him. It is a funny thing to watch grown men hand swat at flys. Talking away and hands flaying through the air and never missing a beat in the conversation or the TV. Poetry in action ya'll.

Heck neither of us killed one darn fly. No need to I guess. Conversation and fellowship. Enjoying good company and TV. It was a good day at the truck stop. And it was good for the flys too. Their little wing muscles got a work out and their eye-wing coordination improved.

Just exercising flys.

Road Kill

Hi. The name is Harlan B. Jaykubs. Most folks just call me Homer. The "B" actually has a name attached to it. It does more than just take up space between Harlan and Jaykubs. I think, however, my folks were on some very powerful drugs when they laid that name on me. Let's just say it ain't no better than Sue. You can call me Homer.

Southeast Kansas ain't got a lot going for it. Flat. Hot. Humid. Isn't near as glamorous as say, I don't know, Wichita. So this part of Kansas don't add much to the lure of the rest of the state. But by god we work hard. Just hard to find something to be hard at is all.

So, I wasn't expecting a whole lot from this Summer Saturday. Figured I'd go see my buddy, Dennis. He lives just a few miles from my house in town. He's in the sticks. Not that being in town is that much different than living in the sticks. It's just that the general store is closer. My old 53 5window Chevy truck fires right up. She ain't purty but she's reliable. Important out here in the sticks.

As I rolled up to Dennis's house down by the river he was outside by the barn pitching hay into the cow feeder.

"Hey Dennis. Watch ya doin?"

"What's it look like Homer. I'm makin milk here."

"O. Looked more like you's making an excuse to have your Saturday nite bath is all."

"That too Homer. What's up?"

"Guess what I saw coming over here."

Dennis just stares at me. He hates guessing games.

"Come on Dennis. Guess."

Silence. Stare.

"OK. Another run over possum in town. Just like the other dozen or so this year."

Stare.

"Come on Dennis. Ain't that weird?"

"Did ya try to put a beer can between his front legs and put him on his back?"

"You know better than that. That's for armadillos down in Texas. Not possums in Kansas."

"Yeah that's right. And it best be a Lone Star longneck in them paws."

"Don't ya think that's a lot of possums tho?"

"Suppose so." Dennis rubs his chin with his right hand. "How about them deer too?"

"O yeah. Think them critters have some kind of death wish this year?"

"Could be Homer." Dennis rubs his chin a little more. "Say, I'm bout done here. And speaking about critters, wanna fish some Homer?"

"Alright. Need some help?"

"Nah Homer. I'll be done with just a few more pitches of this hay."

Like I said. I didn't expect much from this day.

And don't forget. The name's Homer.

Black and Tan

It was a shock. Not unexpected. All the same a shock.

Happened so fast that only a blur was caught in the corner of my eye.

Then, there she sat. In my lap. Purring. Content. Demanding a pet.

Every morning. Like clock work this black and tan cat, with a little white, jumps into my lap. Goes with the first cup of black joe. I'm getting used to it now.

Actually I look forward to it. I am now a part of her pride. She's such a petting whore.

Speaking of a whore, I got to get some work. I'm a whore for dollars and they are few and far between these days, work and dollars. I grab the cell phone from its cradle on my right hip.

I punch in the numbers and push the send button.

One ringadinggy. Two ringadinggy. The line picks up before the third ringadinggy.

"Labor Ready, this is Marsha. How may I direct your call?"

"Hi Marsha. Jim. Got anything for me today?"

"O hey Jim. Not yet but it is still early. Ya know I'll call when something comes in that we can use your skills for sweetie."

"Yeah, I know. Later."

"Bye"

Hummm. Not even a day labor job. How in the hell can I pay my bills with no work? It's a good thing I ain't got bills. Well, next number to call. Don't wanna do it. But gotta do it.

I know someone that can use my 'skills'.

I dial. It is answered on the first ring, like this is expected. "That offer still stands?"

"Yes"

"When"

"Come by this afternoon for all the details."

"You got the cash?"

"Yes"

"I'll be there around one."

The black and tan cat finds me. Jumps into my lap. Demanding a pet. Demanding that I stay with her. Don't go.

I arrive before one. I stake out the place. Make sure all is kosher. Gotta be sure this is legit.

I see my fisted right hand before me. I knock twice on the door. It opens.

"Come in."

There before me is the job. Well, at least the tools I'll be using to do the job. Beside that is the money. I pocket the money.

"What is the address?"

He tells me.

"What are the names."

He tells me.

"Alright"

I pick up the clown suit. And the empty balloons that will be filled with helium when I get to the gig.

Hell, it's a job.

I won't tell the cat.

Ferrari Talk

A quick look to the right revealed an empty walkway. A quick look to the left revealed an
empty walkway in the opposite direction. Walkway clear. I run right.

Must have run a few hundred yards and still not a sound of running feet on the walkway behind
me. A clean get away. That hasn't happened in a while. I hate going through those spells
where nothing seems to go my way. Much like a ball player in a slump you just have to adjust
and get through it. Though in my profession, a petty thief, slumps could land you in jail.

A green steel building is ahead on the left of the walkway. I slow down to examine the dark
building. A roll-up door is facing the walk, which is the north side of the building.
No lights. I stop and listen. No one at home. Moving around to the west side I notice no doors
but 4 windows above head level, one with a window air conditioner. The south side has two doors,
one a regular house type and the other another roll-up. Obviously this building is some kind of
industrial business, a weld shop or what ever. The doors are locked. Again no lights.

The building's east side is much like the west except there is a door, another house type, a
third of the way down. I walk past the door to finish my circuit around the steel structure
to complete my inspection. No sounds. No lights. No one at home. No cops. Good, I'm back
on track.

I go back to the east door thinking this is a great place to lay low for an hour or two. That
will get the heat to simmer down and I really need the rest. I don't have to see my client
till the early afternoon. I press my right ear to the door. No noise that concerns me. A fan
is moving air somewhere. No voices. No radio left on to mask other sounds. I try the door
knob. It's unlocked! Quickly I open the door and go inside and thank my lucky stars that
the hinges did not complain. I shut the door behind me and lean my back against it. I wait
for my eyes to adjust to the gloom. The windows allow just enough star and moon light through
to keep the inside from being an inky hole.

I see cars. In different stages of repair apparently. One is on stands. One is completed and
shiny. Good, a car repair shop. I find a place that appears to offer some comfort and sit
down. I'm soon asleep.

"Hey buddy. You asleep?"

I'm really sound asleep.

"HEY! BUDDY! YOU ASLEEP!"

Startled, I jump to my feet with my hands in a defensive position in front of my face frantically
trying to get my brain in gear and find where that voice is coming from. I search side to side
and behind and I see nothing! No one is here. Was I dreaming? I sit back down. My breathing
returns to normal. Wow. I gotta get a new job. I doze off again.

"Geez. Buddy. WAKE UP!"

I'm on my feet much quicker this time. Hands up. Eyes roaming. No one!

"I'm right in front of you. Bud."

In front of me is a blue, large, some kind of foreign car on jack stands with the wheels off
and a whole lot of other car parts missing as well. There is no one standing by the car.

"I'm a Ferrari. At one time I was owned by The Fonz."

Holy sheets-ka-bob! I jump back almost falling into a roll box full of tools. Did that car just
talk to me?

"You might remember that Henry Winkler played The Fonz. He and his wife bought me in France."

Dumb founded, I stare at the car, uh, Ferrari. It can't be. What was that show from my youth?
O yes, Mr. Ed, a talking horse. Did I stumble into a show somehow?

"Mr. Winkler doesn't own me anymore. Pity. That family was fun. O don't worry, you'll get
used to me talking soon. At least I hope so. Can you converse? That poor black 356 over there
to your right?" I look and see a black car, I'll take the blue car's word on it being a 356,
whatever that is. "That Porche belonged to Jay Sebring, the hairdresser that was murdered
along with Sharon Tate. I do believe he is so traumatized that he will no longer speak."

I pinch myself in desperation. I have to be asleep. That pinch hurt. Well, at least I now know
what that black 356 is. "Uh, Ferrari or Fonz er, Mr. Winkler? How?"

"How can I speak? Is that it? Haven't the slightest. I'm just a Ferrari."

I sit down again. Not sleepy anymore.

Barefoot Snake

Why is it that you know when you've screwed up. I mean really screwed up. That's how I
feel right now. Laying here in bed I've decided to keep my eyes shut, my ears open, and
my nose to the wind. O man I don't like what those senses are telling me.

Why O why did I stop at that bar last night? Shoulda just kept on driving. O no, I had
to have a beer. Yeah, that was a good idea. Just wished that one hadn't grown to . . .
I don't know how many!

Well, let's put a little light on the subject.

Slowly, very slowly, I crack open my right eye lids. Just enough to see a blurry vision
but not open so much as to let anyone know I'm awake. I learned how to do it as a kid.

I knew it! I did pick up a broad. Of course I smelled her laying next to me. I just wanted
to get a visual. She could have left and only her scent remained. Not my luck.

Her breathing is slow and rhythmic. Shallow. I open my eyes wide. The long red hair is falling
over her face shielding the closed eyes. It's a wonder her nose isn't itching from the hair
moving in and out near the nostrils as she breaths. Well, at least she ain't a porker. I'm
not rolling into her. She's probably a good looker as well. I am not going to wake her by
moving her hair from her face to find out.

Now, how am I gonna get out of bed and not disturb her? Gotta be like a barefoot snake.

Or a sloth on meth. I best lay here a while. But not to long.

I move my right leg to the edge of the bed. Then the left leg joins the right. Awkward. Move
my right arm to the edge. I use it to move my upper torso to the edge, keeping my eyes on
the girl. So far so good. She hasn't moved.

Now, my body is balanced on the edge of the bed. Just one little push and I'm off the bed.
Should be a simple thing. I slowly roll off the edge.

The damn sheet goes with me! I land on the floor and the sheet drapes all over me. I push up
on my hands and peek over the edge of the bed.

"Going for breakfast I hope." She speaks.

"Uhhh, yeah, that's right."

"I'll have a Big Breakfast from Mickey D's honey. Love you!"

That's when the diamond on her left hand flashed a bolt of lightning into my eye.

"Is that what I think it is? On your left hand there?"

"Yes and we had a great wedding and nuptial. Love you."

MARRIED! Me! Well, at least she has a great body.

Damn beer anyways.

Beer and Cigar

This is gonna hurt. Yeah, real bad I figure. Better rest awhile. Gather strength.
It's gonna hurt alright.

5 hours earlier.

I click on the send button. The last thing to do after making sure the ad says
what I want it to say. Pictures in place. And I wrote the two code words into the
box. Gotta do that for Craigslist. Now it is just wait and see who responds.

I get a beer and a cigar. Go back into the garage. Still thinking about the ad. I
believe that the heading, Knucklehead Chopper, will get some attention. The pics for
sure. My baby is gonna do right by me. Just like the last 10 years. Hate to sell my
pride. Have to do it. No job. No prospects. Damn idiots in Washington have ruined
everything. Bastards.

The first email response is a scam. Proves Craigslist is a scammers heaven. Bastards.

The next few emails are from wanna-be biker lawyers, accountants and such. Pretty boys
with money and no brains. Pocket book bikers. Bastards.

My baby is for real bikers. I wait.

3 hours later.

After 6 Ultra's (gotta watch my weight and carbs) and another fine cigar and numerous
goofy emails, the first real biker responds. Knows what a jockey shift is. Knows
that the left foot is the clutch because of the dog chain. Gets the drift of no
gages. We make an appointment to see my baby.

Real time.

The biker arrives with a friend. Big dudes. Tattoos and all. Beards and leather.
Tough characters for sure. Wearing the colors. Crap. Serious bikers these two. Best
be on my toes. The negotiations begin.

"Hey, bro. We're here for the knuck."
"
"Over here in the garage."

They follow behind me into the garage. Not comfortable with them behind me. Gotta be
done. They see the bike.

The bigger one goes over to the bike. Must be the guy gonna buy it. His partner stays
behind me. Not to close. Yet close enough.

"Bro," the biker at my baby says to the one behind me. "This is the real deal. Just like the
pictures. Only better. Man, she's real nice."

"Yeah buddy." his friend says. "Would make a big man's balls crawl inside and hide
beneath his stomach!" He grins and laughs. I chuckle nervously.


"How much friend?"

I say, "you read the ad. How much ya brung?"

"Enuff. Gotta a beer?"

Must have been a signal. His friend grabs me from behind. Pins my arms down to my
sides. I imagine he still has that grin. "In the fridge, friend."

"Good." He walks over to the garage fridge. He opens the door. "Ultra's. You diabetic?"

"Something like that." Small talk.

"Fuck. You want one?" I gather it wasn't for me. I don't answer. His partner says no.

He grabs a beer and twists the top off before closing the fridge door. He takes a
long swig. "Bitchin, it's cold. Thanks," and he tips the bottle in my direction.

"Anytime bro."

He walks over with his beer and stands directly in front of me. Man, this guy is huge.

"Well, here's the deal friend. I take your bike. You don't call the cops. You live.
And since I'm a generous sort, I'll send over a case of Ultra's from the store."

"Sounds mighty fine bro." I gotta get out of this hold. Then I can do some real
negotiating.

"Thought you'd see it my way. But, to make sure you follow through on your end we gonna
have to knock you out. Then we load the bike and leave. You wake up with a case at
your feet. OK?"

I whistle real loud. The garage door slams shut and the lights go out. Startled, the
biker holding me lets some tension off my arms. Just enough. I break free and stomp
on his right foot just before the ankle. He screams.

As I lunge off the screaming biker I force my head under the chin of the other big
dude. He loses balance and falls into the knuck. He lands on the floor and the bike
falls on top of him, temporarily pinning him down.

I whistle again, more softly. Out of the shadows my help emerges.

Yep, it's gonna hurt. I'll have a bloody mess to clean later. Hope I still have
enough Ultra's in the fridge. The man under the bike screams. My friend has started.

Knock Knock

Knock Knock Knock. There's a knocking at my door.

The sound startled me. No one knocks on my door. Especially where the door is. Especially when it is a moonless night. Especially when it is silent. Especially now!

Knock Knock Knock. The knocking continues.

Go away! I must not let whoever it is inside. Not Now! Not after what I've just done.

Knock Knock Knock. The knocking is loud.

Don't they understand? I want to be alone. Like I've always been in life. Alone. No one cared to knock at my door.

Knock Knock Knock. It is persistent.

Agitated at the sound, my nerves make me jump. My mind is racing. Racing to what end. How to end the knock. How to end the day. Racing to hide. Hide what I've done.

Knock Knock Knock. There's a knock at my door.

Ooooo. Stop. How do they know? What I've done. How do they know? The sound of the knocking pounds deep into my chest. It is a drumbeat of accusation. Stop. Please stop.

Knock Knock Knock. This knock must be answered.

I look in panic at what I've done. I race into the bedroom to get a sheet to cover what I've done. She can rest in peace now. Because of what I've done. But where is my peace? I go to the kitchen and retrieve a butcher knife from the butcher block. I go to the door.

Knock Knock Knock.

I answer the door.

The Natural Way

It is winter. I can tell. I'm cold.

When it is spring, I can tell. I smell the flowers.

When it is summer, I can tell. I feel the heat from the Sun on a lazy afternoon.

When it is fall, I can tell. I see the change in colors on the tree leaves.

Today it is different. I can't tell what is up. Or down. Or . . . Things are out of sort.

Everything in my life is not as it once was. I doubt if it will ever be what it once was.

I'm out of work. Never been that way before. I once walked off jobs to get a better one that afternoon or at latest, the next morning. To many looking for work now. Not enough jobs. No one seems to know how to get people working. No leaders in Washington. Or in business.

What has happened?

My car pollutes. My butt pollutes. My cat pollutes. It has always been that way. America became great and prosperous with leaky butts. Now we must stop. Become poor. Become like everyone else in the world.

Why?

The Sun rose this morning in the East. It will set this evening in the West. Clouds form. Clouds dissipate. It is a natural way of things. Yet, some may want to fault humans for the natural way of things and expect to change it.

How?

It is winter. I can tell.

I'm discontented.

Views

I backed the Pete into a warehouse to get the two oilfield service valves. They are sandwiched between two rails destined for Minneapolis MN while the valves went to the border near Canada.









I was parked at a small strip mall across from the Wal-Mart in Pensacola FL. This beauty showed up in the parking lot. I grabbed my camera. It is a 29 roadster.







I got this HUMMVEE at Ft. Bliss, San Antonio TX. It belongs to a unit being deployed to Afghanistan. I took it to Ft. Knox TN. Keep our sons and daughters of the military in your prayers.







Another load for the Army. This time I got these at the Red River Arsenal near Texarkana TX and took them to the 10th Mountain Division in New York State. They are an elite and proud group of soldiers and I'm glad to have been of service to them.






Not everything involved work. I spent a weekend on this great 41' Morgan with my old Navy friend and his friends in the Florida Keys.








A setting Sun in a rain shower in East Texas.











Visiting my friends, Donnie and Erin, at their home in Rhode Island.









Parked at home in Fillmore CA to make a delivery of one loan tractor to a farm implement company in Bakersfield CA.








I really enjoyed my time on the road.


(All photos by Jim Rieves)

The Gumshoe

"Hey!" "Stop!" Run more. Breathe hard. "Dammit!" "Stop!"

The man turns the corner ahead down a dark alley. Must be a block ahead of me at least. No way I'm gonna go in there. Besides, he has a big lead and will no doubt be gone by the time I arrive at the alley. Might as well go back to the shop.

I fumble around in my right jean pocket for the keys. After removing the large key ring holding the keys to my life, some of which I have long ago forgotten what they opened, much less what they protected, I find the door key. Reaching towards the door lock with the key the door is yanked open.

And there stands the man I was chasing. "What the hell?!"

He grabs me by the hand still holding the door key in position to unlock the door. Roughly I might add and I'm pulled through the door jamb and into the sparse room.

"Are you surprised?"

I nod my head yes.

"Good. Or not. Thought I taught you better."

I don't nod, keeping a sheepish look instead.

"Well, let's sit and have a drink. Your office?"

I nod yes. We go into my 'office' consisting of a well used desk bought at a yard sale and a roller chair bought at Good Will. Sitting on the desk is a lamp salvaged from the dumpster. I crudely repaired the shade with construction paper of near the right shade and gorilla glue. Kinda works. No dial phone graces the surface to complete the 40's scene of a gumshoe, hell, no manual Olivetti typewriter either. Cell phones and laptops are so much more convenient. In front of the desk sits a folding chair (OK, what would you expect? It's cushioned, sorta, with a folded towel. Green towel).

My guest takes the folding chair while I sit behind my desk. I reach into the bottom right drawer and remove the bottle of Jack with two paper cups. I pour each of us a drink. I hand my guest his cup.

"OK, now that you have embarrassed me again what is this all about?"

My friend picks up his cup and takes a long sip. He looks at me above the rim of the cup.

"I need you to kill someone."