Echoes of Echoes

I’ve done a few of these on a similar theme for the past couple years. About once every six months something pops into m,y head while driving late at night and I race home to get it down. I’ll post the other two up some other lazy afternoon.


Echoes of Echoes in the Night

Back out on the road.  I’ve left the man and his work for another night. His giant, all knowing globe a blue ball of dying American might.

I slide my windows down and head for the trees.

The wail of a Stratocaster echoes over the empty farmlands as it is stroked with a Zippo by a God, sounding like a teenager reaching out for glory alone between the sheets.

A lightning bug smacks into the wind shield, returned to stardust in a sudden flash as I soar through constellations of its brethren as the wipers keep time to the drums on my radio.

The albatross: Is it in shadows in front of me, obscured by dense mists that are quickly becoming the one thing between me and the glass and my death as I curve into the forest. . .

“What the fuck?”

With a click, I find my brights to banish the shadows. Deep in the fog there was movement. With a shake of my head I see nothing. . . no deer, no rabbit, no dog, no person wandering along the side of the highway, beginning to be the next legend, the next ghost story told on basic cable TV. . . The next cross on the side of the road forgotten by the masses.

There’s just even more  swirls in the endless gray.

I nudge the accelerator, the radio screaming, urging me onward as I pass through . . . and into the year nineteen seventy and one.

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