50 ways to slip slide away.

[KB.]

"I know a man

He came from my home town

He wore his passion for his woman

Like a thorny crown

He said delores

I live in fear

My love for yous so overpowering

Im afraid that I will disappear"



I don’t care for Simon, but Garfunkel is alright in my book. They should have written a song called “50 Ways to Slip Slide Away”. Hop on a bus Gus and slip slide away. Catchy isn’t it?

You ever want to just disappear, slide away; relocate to some little town in Mexico and send your Moma a cheap postcard saying you’re sorry, but you just had to roll on. Would your Mother understand if you did just that? Mine would I think; she wouldn’t like it but she would understand, and she would probably tape every episode of Lost until I came back home. No, I ain’t planning on disappearing, and if I was I for sure wouldn’t tell you about it; now slip slidin away that is a different story.

I think I will write a little pure fiction.

Roy will be the sometimes narrator and sometimes the one narrated about. I really don’t feel like being all grammatical this morning. (The name is from a Tim McGraw song about Mexico)

Roy walked outside and lit a smoke; he waved at the mailman, and went to check the mailbox. Bills, the hospital type; he shook his head and kicked a rock to see if he could get blood from it. The rock stubbornly refused to bleed, and he guessed that meant he could ignore the bill for a while longer. He was kind of irritated by the fact that the 200 dollar pair of shoes he had ordered hadn’t come in yet. He didn’t spend that kind of money on shoes, but he really liked these. He did notice a letter from someone other than a collector in the batch. He pondered it for a bit, wondered if he should open it or just make an excuse. He decided to have a seat on the front steps and light another cigarette. He had to stop soon; it was cutting into his rainy day money. Roy opened the letter and the after a few pleasantries he read something that made him forget his rainy day money, and he went and paid for a vice. He ignored that line for a few minutes and read the rest of the letter. He folded it up, and stuck it in his back pocket. Roy went and found the only two songs by Paul Simon he had ever really liked and tried to make a remix; put the two together. Then he tried to sleep, it was late; but he couldn’t even begin to let his head quit buzzing. Roy had once liked onomatopoeia, but he was decidedly in favor of having them banned from the English language at this point.

He tossed and turned for a few moments, but he had done this enough to know that wouldn’t work. So he got up and wrote a letter to a friend he had never met; told her a few things that were on his mind; gave some advice they probably didn’t need; but the advice was just the vehicle to talk about some things that were keeping him awake. It had been months since sleeping had been an issue. He might not sleep much, but he hadn’t had trouble getting there in awhile. He felt a little better, and attempted the sleep thing again. He felt like something wasn’t done though; like he should do one more thing. Roy got back up again and wrote one more letter. It was short, and to the point. This time when he got back in bed he didn’t get out again until three hours later when the alarm starting buzzing; damn words that sound like sounds were going to be the death of him.

Roy woke up in time to see the mailman driving away and he went to see if maybe there were some coupons for buy one get one free vodka tonics. There wasn’t of course, there never was. There was another letter though, apparently he took things too personally and he was easy like Sunday morning. There was also his quarterly magazine from Escape Artist, it looked like a rerun.

Roy put the other letter in his back pocket with the first; and went to check his bank statement. Roy looked around and decided to just get in his truck and drive south. He didn’t feel like packing. Roy never really did ask for too much, a good morning and night once in awhile; the respect to be honest and if you were going to lie at least look him in the eye when you did it. He wasn’t a particularly big fan of tact, but there was a time and place. Sometimes you just had to understand to leave some sh!t unsaid. Some things you just can’t qualify. Roy remembered a day he had changed old habits, how he had taken a ritual he was more than comfortable in performing and reversed it. It’s cool though, Roy thought to himself, the ritual was a circle and no matter which direction you turned you would eventually end up in the same place.

It would take Roy awhile to get to where he was going, but time was something he had plenty of, and he wasn’t really too worried about it any more. As he drove down the driveway towards the road he looked over and saw the neighbor’s dog chewing on a Frisbee like it was some tossed out piece of meat. He saw that dog cower up as his neighbor’s door opened, and he thought about something a man he had once known used to say, “You beat a dog long enough and it will eventually learn to get the hell out of the way”.

Roy drove down the highway towards work; he was slip slidin away just like Paul had talked about. He thought about beaches, hammocks, and Cuervo. He thought about some deeply tanned, long legged, twenty year old native selling beads by that beach and wondered if she could teach him how to do the Fandango. He was just about done.

KB



“Traveling is not just seeing the new; it is also leaving behind. Not just opening doors; also closing them behind you, never to return. But the place you have left forever is always there for you to see whenever you shut your eyes.”

~ Jan Myrdal



The shoes:

http://tinyurl.com/24tu9w

[minks]

Mate I need an entire case of paper and about 3 replacement cartridges, I just love your stuff, I wanna print it all out and read it like a novel.

Thanks again for sharing.

[KB.]

I added a link to the shoes.