Rude AwakeningThe past boiling in the kettle of dreams. Your smiling face at the kitchen table, rational and proper, while he’s the whistle, steaming, screaming…Rude Awakening by petebuck1
Paul Simon’s “Paranoid Blues” out the Jeep windows: my hopeful exclamation that summer has arrived. Rolling through your old haunts; you “just got out in the nick of time,” while I still haunt. If you ever come through in reality, you’d find it a time capsule: auto mechanics, Mennonite buggies, produce shops, and a short trip to Yellow Creek Park. At thirty five miles per hour, car headlights distort the road ahead, glistening off the rain-soaked highway. Chill night air getting to me, I roll the windows up, crack one a bit, and end up having to roll one down again in order to spit out the mucus I wrangled up by singing.
Can’t seem to shake this. Upper respiratory infection. A few days working partial shifts. Reaction to