Archive for July 3rd, 2011
I was jiggling along in the back of the paddy wagon, alone, in chains, trying to breathe through my mouth. The driver went to the far right lane to take the Arapahoe Road exit. An ugly red-headed guy in a yellow VW Bug honked at him because the red-head could see that we were going to hit the overpass in that far right lane. I don’t think the keeper-driver heard the honk, but even if he had, the yellow bug guy was hogging the next lane, which is where the overpass was high enough for us to pass safely.
We hit hard and the paddy wagon was jerky, running down the road with flying shards of cheap metal and crazy glass, puffing tortured bits of black-oiled smoke, slowing, finally dropping it’s top. I looked up at blue, knowing I was free, but how would a guy look running down the highway in chains? I looked up because I knew angels were taking me away. I had to leave with the angels. I was too gentle for the bullets that were about to splay me.
It roams quietly around the room. People are smooth, looking down, rubbing chins, playing with wrinkles in pants, and one picking dog poo off of his shoe.
Some know the truth. Some only know experience. The truth floats around the room like god, spectating at all of the confusion, smelling the burnt coffee and the elephant dung aroma from clothes melted too often with stale Lucky Strike smoke.
The truth tries to fire herself out of the stories, out of the experiences which should act like a lighthouse, pointing distinctly at herself, at the shitty, moving, but distinctly singular truth.