Freddy A. Williams

DEUCE AND A HALF TO NOWHERE

It is a lazy day; I have left base camp somewhere, going to nowhere.

I am full; the sun is hot on my back. The road is rough, large holes from miles away. Riding on the deuce and a half to nowhere, I should be more alert, but it is a lazy day so I must rest while I ride. I’m not asleep just relaxed. Don’t I deserve the rest? After all I am in the deuce and a half on the road to nowhere.

What is that tugging at my cloths, taking chunks out of the side planks, punching small holes in the steel bed of the deuce and a half to nowhere? Why is the driver being so erratic, swerving from side to side, speeding up, and bouncing as the large holes in the road jump in front of us? I am no longer relaxed. I feel like a coiled spring in the deuce and a half to nowhere.

As the spring uncoils, lightening flashes: things die that should have lived, Things live that should have died. In a moment, in the twinkle of the eye, things will die on the deuce and a half to nowhere

Dust and dirt, rocks and grass fill the air: the smell of powder or is it sulfur is strong, and I am getting tired. I feel a deep burning pain. I think I will rest now. I am going to change and get off this deuce and a half to nowhere.

I feel good because I am now going somewhere. No more rough rides on the deuce and a half to nowhere!