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 Old Jeff bounced and shimmied back up the drive, a winding little track in the woods.  I had the amp off, just enjoying the peace of the day.  The sun was sliding across the three-thirty mark, lunchtime for the working class and an end of classes for schoolchildren.  In two hours, a small restaurant would be having a special deal on their lunch buffet of curried meats. That curried meat was mine. I had to dodge a fat brat-wagon that felt stop signs were a suggestion winding through the back roads up to the buy-way.  Automatic signal boxes flashed out their directions to drivers, letting the right turners know it was safe, stopping traffic

 The best feeling in the world is being able to fall down as hard as you want without feeling any of the repercussions.  With enough well water, I doubt a nudist would feel reentry from the upper atmosphere.  The little pee-wee trip from standing to floor was nothing.  I heard a thunk of something hitting my face rather than felt it, the mouthpiece for the vase.  I took a pull and let the cloud of smoke fill the room. “So,” Matt was leaning back with his eyes closed, “we got business?” “Yeah, right,” I pulled myself up slowly.  Slow is a delicious feeling.  “Gas tank.  Got a hole in it somewhere.&rd

 I woke softly, no pains or delirium.  I was on my back, cool grass under.  A tree swayed overhead, dappling the light.  Felt like there were still rust flakes in my mouth. Fucking gas tank.  I was beginning to hate the sedan, every bump, every rusted bolt, every creak and crack and paint chip.  It just clicked, I was going to hate this car.  That would be the only way to get the work done, to hate it because it’s foreign.  And out to get me. During my xenophobic inner monologue, I noticed the approach of footsteps headed towards me.  I raised my head and felt a slight rolling motion in my head.  The empty tank was heavier than it loo

 It was a good day.  Early summer, still relatively cool.  A breeze ruffled through the trees and corn. I looked across the field and could smell the freshness of it.  The little bakery down from the house was puffing out the smell of good bread made of hearty wheat stocks from the south.  A good sign, that the early crops were abundant.  Bodes well for the rest of the area.  By then the corn was about up to my shins, healthy green stalks going on for acres.  Behind me was the little housing area that went on all the way up to the top of the valley.  Up there, near the main traffic-way, we had a bunch of shops for whatever was needed.  Green