vagabond

Truth be known. I lived part of my life as a vagabond. I fancied myself a modern day troubadour and rode the rails from town to town, in the American south. I was a mess, a wasted excuse for a man, I returned from the war shattered, lost and confused. I was drunk and stoned for ten years, but anyway that is the how and why of it. The story I want to tell, started at this time, in some small town in Arkansas I think it was. I was trying to catch a freight train that was switching tracks and heading north. I was in the company of two other lost souls, we had spent the night in a maintenance shed, drinking cheap wine and doing some fine dinning on a few half eaten burritos’ we found in the dumpster out in back of the shed. Early the next morning I expected to catch my freight and be on my way.

Fate however had her own plans. As we left the shed and headed down the tracks our timing seemed impeccable the train had just started to roll and all that was left was to simple hop aboard, it was a hot summer day, the heat was shimmering all ready and the sun wasn’t even fully up yet. Just as I was about to board, I had a sharp pain in my stomach followed by some loud rumblings, and then that unmistakable feeling when one has to take a dump; you know the feeling that says no, I won’t wait, find some where to go, or I’ll meet you in your trousers. Well yes that was it, I had to go at that moment there would be no negotiations. Trouble was, there really was nowhere to go but there and then. So I dutifully stepped off the tracks lowered my dirty jeans, checked the wind and let it rip. I must say I felt a lot better, albeit only for a moment. For I no sooner raised my trousers then one of my companions started shouting “Bulls, here come the railroad bulls.” Needless to say the situation did not look very promising I didn’t really know what to do, oh sure I could of ran, but if you ever been shot in the ass with a pepper gun, you can understand why I ruled that option out. All I could think to do was throw my baseball cap over the poop that was steaming proudly just off to the side of the track. The police officer rolled up and stepped out of his vehicle. ”What are you boys up to this morning, you know this here is private property of the Southern railroad! Usually most bulls will let you hop the freight just to get you out of their hair and jurisdiction. And I believed that this is what was about to happen, until he noticed the ball cap at the side of the tracks. “Who’s cap is that, he asked” It’s mine I almost whispered. ”Well pick it up boy”

He demanded, I, I can’t was my meek response. ”What it the hell do you mean, boy”. He shouted. If I do he’ll fly away, I replied. “Who’ll fly away boy, you on drugs isn’t you boy” No sir I ‘m not, but I have got the fastest bird in the world under that cap and if I lift the cap he’ll surely fly away.” Well we’ll just see about that, you smartass Yankee boy, now look here, I’ll count to three, then you lift the cap and I’ll grab that son of a bitch” Before I could respond, he started counting,1, 2, 3, My mind was racing I lifted the cap. Why you no good son of a bitch, he say, you’ll are going to jail”. I stammered out... I told you, it was the fastest bird in the world, and he just shit in your hand and flew away. Needless to say I’m writing this while I serve my 90 days in the county jail. Got any smokes?