Strangers

I saw a man this morning in a dead sprint down the highway carrying a baseball bat, and though I wondered about his crusade (it was surely nothing less), I didn’t dare speculate. Maybe he was the leadoff guy for a sour ass fast-pitch team with the 9 am slating and he knew that, without him, they were dead bones by noon. Maybe his son was the actual leadoff guy, in the shit with the dented TPX (the only other bat in the dugout light enough for him to get around with) and he thought his father his hero.

My brother bought a bottle while he was at work today and had to hide it behind a tree because he couldn’t fit it under his motorcycle seat. Now we have to go retrieve it.

Life is fun sometimes.

It gets so hard sometimes.

I remember a Saturday morning about ten years ago, toting a blanket and a pillow with vomit on it fifteen blocks to a Burger King where my car was parked, wondering what all the cars passing by me were thinking.

A lack of self-awareness may be the true beginning of wisdom.

I tend to see myself through every pair of eyes in the room, and that’s fucked up. While I’m seeing myself see myself, I’m also seeing myself see the investor see the producer seeing me seeing myself, and how can I possibly talk about what I’m supposed to be talking about in the midst of something like this happening? Confounded

I once saw a man out in the Texas panhandle pulled over on an on-ramp. He was being handcuffed by a highway patrolman with a shotgun resting on his hood with his windshield blown out.

There was once a guy in the checkout line buying a single rose and twelve long-stem condoms.

There was once a guy carrying a jug of bleach and a dozen roses past the shoe aisle at the back of a Wal-Mart.

You’ve been there; I know you have.

Who hasn’t purchased an orange and comb at 3 am?

The checker man has seen it all. You can’t get to him anymore.

The remainder of us can only laugh; we shake our heads. We speculate with our newly gathered ammunition for the day. And thank God. We keep life spicy, don’t we?

No one will ever understand; we just leave our two-seventy-five in pennies on the counter and duck back out the door to pump seven hoping we will never actually see any of these people again.

The highway is far too long for silly questions like why, and far too many of us have far too much distance to cover in far too little time to answer the questions anyway.

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