Saturday, August 21, 2004

El Dorado -

After the most unfortunate incineration of my automobile at a truckstop just outside of Timbuktu, I thought it best to simply leave the vehicle's burned-out husk on the side of the dirt road after removing what was left of the licence plate and scratching off the serial number. Subsequently, this changed my travel plans somewhat, as I found I had no choice but to resort to hitchhiking - something I said I'd never do after that most ill-fated encounter in Xanadu.

In case I forgot to mention it, I thought it best to quit my job after a rather unpleasant/pleasant incident off the coast of Dougherty Island involving the foreman's yacht, a gaggle of Coors Light girls, and an obscenely large bottle of booze. I spent the past month in some kind of transient haze, wandering here and there, not really knowing which was which - in fact, barely knowing whether I was alive or dead. (Though the two are really so close, it's hard to differentiate between them at the best of times.) To be certain, all I know is this: I can never go home again.

Because one never can.

No comments:

Post a Comment