New Year's resolutions.
Naturally, I suppose, the highways are always like that. The freeways, the side streets and the various old clay roads that lead to barns nobody's put an eye to since the 1940s or thereabouts. The way I see it, I got about fourteen or so of them lost-lookin'-for-somethin'-they-don't-know-what types scattered between Barkley to Dempsey. Three in Dempsey proper, on old Jarvis' fuckin' trout farm, which is pretty spread out. Not that Jarvis himself needs any of that land, so it ain't hurtin' him none. Hell, the last time I sees a delivery truck needin' some fish from that poor old boy musta been way back before Killington Station burnt down, and I don't recall when that was so you best just look it up on microfiche.
Two nights ago I ate at the Pass-Thru Diner way off of Route 20, made myself the acquaintance of a young lady by the name of Nanci. She was "nearing twenty-five," she said, but could be pressed to say no more of it. Guess that means she was almost thirty. Looked seventeen to me in some lights, and then, yeah, thirty, in others. Long blond hair up in a pony tail so sharp it could whip a horse across the track, I'd say. Sweet as an apple on the ground, she was.
Nanci took me to a lake way back in the woods behind Pass-Thru with two six-packs of the local canned beer she paid for with her tips from that night. The beer tasted like horse piss, but I said I'd pay her back for it anyway, and to that she smiled, which made me smile too, because what the fuck's she smiling for, I thought. Half a mind to wipe those white teeth away red.
Ain't spent twenty minutes out there before she starts fiddling with my hair and kissing me on the chin. So's I do a little of my own stuff; undid her blouse, tossed the Pass-Thru apron into the lake.
"Why'd you do that," she asks all giggly like she really was already buzzed from three cans. And hell, maybe she was. Didn't stop my answer from being any less valuable to history, though.
Funny thing is, I don't ever get very far with the ladies. Take Nanci, for instance, or Jeanna before her, or that girl Caithlin with the dimples and that great ass, who kept talkin' about medical school all the night long.. They were all pretty, all lonely, and well let's face it...all of them were drunk AND lonely. And pretty. A little huggin', a little kissin', and a little of the other stuff...but then I'm just, well, gone. Truth is, I don't know what comes over me. Do I feel guilty? Am I too anxious, nervous or embarrassed about something? Do I think maybe I can't please a woman or something? Or that she's only with me cause of the beer in her blood? It's a wild thing, sometimes.
I just don't know.
I skipped Nanci's eyes across the surface of the lake like they was stones, and in the moonlight that's just what they looked like. It seems I always got a tarp or two in the back of the pick-up when I need it, and I wrapped her tightly in a big yellow one I'd got from Miller the handyman down in Turtle Town. Maybe she done floated past some fishermen out on the bog by now, but who knows? I don't think I secured her too well to that log seein' as how I was pretty drunk by then as well. Sure, I paid Nanci back. Gave her enough payback to make it look like I had some vendetta against the girl. But I didn't. I didn't even know her last name.
Two nights ago I ate at the Pass-Thru Diner way off of Route 20, made myself the acquaintance of a young lady by the name of Nanci. She was "nearing twenty-five," she said, but could be pressed to say no more of it. Guess that means she was almost thirty. Looked seventeen to me in some lights, and then, yeah, thirty, in others. Long blond hair up in a pony tail so sharp it could whip a horse across the track, I'd say. Sweet as an apple on the ground, she was.
Nanci took me to a lake way back in the woods behind Pass-Thru with two six-packs of the local canned beer she paid for with her tips from that night. The beer tasted like horse piss, but I said I'd pay her back for it anyway, and to that she smiled, which made me smile too, because what the fuck's she smiling for, I thought. Half a mind to wipe those white teeth away red.
Ain't spent twenty minutes out there before she starts fiddling with my hair and kissing me on the chin. So's I do a little of my own stuff; undid her blouse, tossed the Pass-Thru apron into the lake.
"Why'd you do that," she asks all giggly like she really was already buzzed from three cans. And hell, maybe she was. Didn't stop my answer from being any less valuable to history, though.
Funny thing is, I don't ever get very far with the ladies. Take Nanci, for instance, or Jeanna before her, or that girl Caithlin with the dimples and that great ass, who kept talkin' about medical school all the night long.. They were all pretty, all lonely, and well let's face it...all of them were drunk AND lonely. And pretty. A little huggin', a little kissin', and a little of the other stuff...but then I'm just, well, gone. Truth is, I don't know what comes over me. Do I feel guilty? Am I too anxious, nervous or embarrassed about something? Do I think maybe I can't please a woman or something? Or that she's only with me cause of the beer in her blood? It's a wild thing, sometimes.
I just don't know.
I skipped Nanci's eyes across the surface of the lake like they was stones, and in the moonlight that's just what they looked like. It seems I always got a tarp or two in the back of the pick-up when I need it, and I wrapped her tightly in a big yellow one I'd got from Miller the handyman down in Turtle Town. Maybe she done floated past some fishermen out on the bog by now, but who knows? I don't think I secured her too well to that log seein' as how I was pretty drunk by then as well. Sure, I paid Nanci back. Gave her enough payback to make it look like I had some vendetta against the girl. But I didn't. I didn't even know her last name.