(no subject)
And that's all it is.
Just a road, stretching straight as the eye can see
(which is odd, 'cause weren't it winding like a snake trying to shed its skin just a minute ago?)
and the only thing on it is Jack's old broken-down truck, the same old piece-of-shit he'd driven to Signal, the same one what kept trying to quit on him once he got down from Brokeback
(that's if he'd ever gotten down from Brokeback, and if those mountains sitting humped and purple in the distance are any clue, he never truly did)
and he's just sitting on the hood, sweating and grease-stained and just about ready to give up on the damned thing.
"Shit," he says, softly, to himself, and squints into the sun.
He hates changing flats.
Just a road, stretching straight as the eye can see
(which is odd, 'cause weren't it winding like a snake trying to shed its skin just a minute ago?)
and the only thing on it is Jack's old broken-down truck, the same old piece-of-shit he'd driven to Signal, the same one what kept trying to quit on him once he got down from Brokeback
(that's if he'd ever gotten down from Brokeback, and if those mountains sitting humped and purple in the distance are any clue, he never truly did)
and he's just sitting on the hood, sweating and grease-stained and just about ready to give up on the damned thing.
"Shit," he says, softly, to himself, and squints into the sun.
He hates changing flats.