Fayetteville 7

Bus station

Bus station (Photo credit: rbrwr)

Near a bus station on an unseasonably warm day.  A chill is lingering under the bashful sunlight and it works on me and chills me and I try to catch cold.  Taking out a joint.  Sitting in an alley behind the bus station I draw the smoke deep in my lungs and hold it.  I sit by a dumpster and a chilly wind blows.  A rack of clouds trowels across the east.  Yellow leaves fall, shuttling and winking. Golden leaves that rush like poured coins into the dying grass.

I swear I think I see a tree get up and walk across the street.  More of them move.  I sit here for what seems like two hours but my watch says ten minutes.  The shadows of somber twilight advance across the lot toward me, the color of doomsday blue.

A gray car comes down the little gravel lane by the bus station and pulls into the lot in front of me.  A paunchy man in tan gabardine and Ray Bans and a badge gets out.  I am still tripping on weed.   The constable’s eyes are mounted on stalks like some scifi writer’s nightmare alien. I look down and see that he has cloven hoofs instead of feet.  And a pointed tail.  When I look back up at him I see he has grown horns like a steer’s and has the countenance of a minotaur.  His horns are dripping in bright red blood and his face is covered with carrion from some obscene pagan feast.  I shake my head to clear it.

Get in the car, the constable minotaur moos and choffs.


2 thoughts on “Fayetteville 7

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s