The sky was completely filled with stars, they exploded out in the night, and were sprawled across the universe. We were entombed in a stretch of rock and trees on the sides of the highway; a clearing opened and we saw some type of yoga ritual and I openly rebuked their pagan gods out of the passenger window. It was a sleepy campground with lazy dogs and good ol' boys watching the fire with their wives.
Later on, out in Monmouth (just before Illinois), one half of the entire town was closed off as we backtracked around the complete other side. The gravel slid The Inchmobile around but we got in. The town was quiet but still stirring.
We passed the local schoolhouse up on a hill; red lights from a local power transformer blinked through the trees as we came into the small main stretch of town. The scene was eerie. ''I don't think it's a good idea, man. I really don't. It's closed, like, this is somebody's house...yea, it looks like a met shack...I don't ****** know this methole..okay, somebody's gonna wanna shoot us anyway with how loud this ****** car is''.
'Looks like something Indiana Jones would of crawled inside of...to avoid a nuuuke...but if it's lined with lead, you'll survive'' said The Inch as he peered down the strip of abandoned buildings in the middle of the town; trees growing outside some of the windows. ''You won't get incinerated but you'll grow a ****** third and forth arm''. Junkies screamed out in the darkness.
I hadn't had enough. I sat outside The Houndog Food and Drinks bar, in the middle of the small town square, and smoked a cigarette on the plastic bench that had two glass ashtrays on it.
Down the road, in front of the bar, was a scene of headlights and people; looked like some type of drug deal. People scurried in and out of apartment buildings, getting in and out of cars parked in the middle of the road with their lights still on, others stood around flicking cigarettes' butts on the ground. It seemed like 80% of the population was out in this small street that more resembled a bizarre flea market stocked with drugs, cheap cigarettes, and depression.
As I waited for Met Jim to come out of the bar and fry up some steak for me, I didn't even realize the place was still open; I peered inside the window and only saw the blue glow of the booze lights inside. It was too strange. In the alley, behind the bar, about ten different cats looked out at us with glowing eyes as they appeared from trees and underneath the bar. They had started to surround us when I decided this was the time to leave.
As we left town, we followed a car that had left the drug deal. We were bumper to bumper with the drug car out of town; two beagle dogs chased the car until we got back on gravel.
No comments:
Post a Comment