two things ive never bought and one i never use

[iamchrisadams]

the receipt crumpled up in my back pocket tells best what i did last night. a four-pack of natural ice, one pack of newport lights, a lighter and a pack of plastic razors. for a face that's not my own. $10.57 down, a night behind, the moon above and to have you mine. telling my favorite girl goodnight by my truck, he rides up on his bike bobbing his head to the Band im playing. he starts talking, i turn it off. he's a mad cat, but cool. you can look in his eyes and feel alright. then he asked, "is this your favorite girl?", got down on one knee, sang her a song, then gave me loads of advice, advice one day we'll all end up either taking or learning its the truth and giving it away. then he started singing with his mellow black breath squeezing through his throat about love and just say what you feel. he pulled out a beer from his back pocket, opened it up, layed it on the step on the side of the truck bed, and layed down on the brick road to rest his head. mumbled something about thomas edison, he lost us there but we were smiling and we talked and grooved and he sang somewhere and when he sang she smiles at me i look into his eyes and see the blue, the sweet blue of fifty-year eyes worn in, seen about enough to starve one to death and the end. and his breath sounded bluer still so his forehead was shining less though the beads of sweat were forming like towns in the West when there was Gold and mines and cowboys and something to work for and own and a country to build. then, they went away with the wipe of a fist. with a short thumb. stubby and dumb. but he asked for a sandwich and i asked him what kind. he asked for some other things that didnt make much sense. but i drove down to the corner to get him some things and he followed with his bicycle. a sandwich, a drink, a slurpee, please. but, instead he sang us one more song as i handed him a 7-11 bag with a four-pack of beer, cigarettes, and a shave. he said he's going lay down underneath an oak tree and talk to some squirrels, and he rode on his way. he said, "ya'll made my night, my day, my week", i said, "goodnight, ray." and if i had the time, i woulda paid to have him sing on until the next day came.

some inserts of his wisdom, please:

"i would rather live in a tin can with a woman i love, than to have a cadillac and worry about all that shit"

"you dont want to be too smart, you know"

"i just want to lay down and die, healthy as hell. dont want no tree gone fall on my ass or a truck kill my ass when i make a bad step too fast."

"just have some alcohol and you'll be okay. wont be sick with disease or sad. just a little alcohol every week. 7 days a week."

ray. he's not doing so good and he's not my hero but i think itd be alright to end up more like him one day.