1960’s and back from Vietnam

(click play for full impact)

If he were going to jump, he’d better do it now.

One, two, three.

Piece of cake. He rolled down and through the growth of weeds beside the tracks, his backpack cushioning him. Only a short walk and he’d be “home”.

He digged living under the overpass. The new highway was far from being built. In fact the overpass didn’t even pass over the street yet. No rumblings above him. Peaceful, just like he wanted. Who needed a fancy ass pad when he had this?

After climbing the cement incline, he perched himself in the shadows against the wall where he could watch but not be seen. He lit the doobie scored yesterday from a dude at the Stop ‘n Go nearby and toked it slowly.

The rumblings of the Missouri Pacific train line, now off to his left, didn’t bother him. Perhaps one day he’d climb that train and truck it the other way to California. See what all the hoopla was about, besides the weather being perfect for a man of the streets. What had ole Machine Gun told him? “California- you could ‘find yourself here’”. That was it. Good ole Machine Gun. Such a drag, him getting blow up.

Austin’s five o’clock traffic crept below him. Sometimes, he’d count the trucks until he got sleepy, like counting sheep with engines. Today, he’d keep track of the number of Volkswagen Beetles, the new cars his favorite. So damn hard to decide which color was best. Maybe when he breathed in the world the way it was supposed to be, it would be easier to decide.

To make choices.

A chick to his left held her thumb out but no one stopped. She kept walking his way, keeping her thumb out and her back to the traffic.

Safe in the shadows, he took another toke and blew out slowly letting the drug take effect. Not bad for being free.

Prissy little thing in her cutoffs. Her ass swayed in rhythm to her blonde ponytail, carefree and cluelss. The yellow halter-top showed off her bra-less points. Many a night he’d dreamed about a girl like that. Probably nineteen, twenty. Probably just a hand-full of years younger than him but fifty worlds apart. Probably never had to wash herself in a damn swamp.

She was right below him now.

If you don’t move, you’re invisible.

The explosion pierced his ears forcing him to curl into a fetal position. He covered his head, forearms over his ears. His heart pumped bile into his throat while his mind waited for the blood to Ooze into a puddle.

He moved, inching up to a sitting position. How could he be so stupid? He was state-side now where cars backfired.

Daily post prompt – Ooze

Published by

Carolyn Dennis-Willingham

Carolyn is the author of two published books – No Hill for a Stepper, 2001, and The Last Bordello, 2016. Her third novel, The Moonshine Thicket, is set in 1928 and is currently enduring a professional edit. When not on her laptop, she serves as a lap top for her grandchildren. She is also a fitness boxer, artist, and throws a tennis ball for her ever-persistent mini Aussie. In addition to her blogging website, carolyndenniswillingham.com, you may find her on Facebook and Twitter.

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