On These Days of Dust and Longing...

The cloud that comes off of the road chokes me as I drive with my window down, cigarette in one hand, steering in wheel in the other. There's no radio, that was stolen long ago: a lasting reminder of my old East Village residence. As I blaze across the lower third of California, heading for anywhere but here, strange thoughts and memories come bubbling up in my brain, less like water on a frying pan and more like sulfur bubbling up from a hot spring. The foul stench lingers in my mind. Memories of the mistakes and the lies and those missed opportunities. But I've no time for this! Not now, not when I'm so close to breaking loose, to breaking free! Not when the only thing between me and three thousand miles of open space is a dust cloud. No time, not for me. I'm gone. Everything you need to know about where I'm going... you can read it in the obit. For now, the only way to catch me is in a helicopter. From the sky, you'll know me as the giant rooster tail, hellbent on freedom, dead-set on death.