July 22, 2013 § Leave a comment
Green weed fields surround the Southwestern plains of Texas as Gerald stepped out of the diesel truck. His steel toe boots hit the dry soil causing a whirlwind of dust. He watched as the lead operator opened the gate ahead. His caravan, only a few cars back, are responsible for closing the gate behind.
“I hear this rancher gets a million dollars a day.” Said Ronnie. Gerald looks at him in disbelief.
“Who said that?”
“The operator.” Ronnie said. “He said he’s got 10 or so skids and about nineteen miles of pipeline. What dumb, fucking luck. His property is right above the Eagle Ford Shale. What’s an old man going to do with all that money. I hear he’s still driving a beaten old pick-up with a mutt in the back.”
The operator drives ahead through the gate. Gerald watched as the rest of the caravan drove through before closing the gate behind. Ronnie stopped the truck to let Gerald back in. He wiped the sweat from his head and grabbed the bottle of water from above the dashboard. His cellphone buzzed. It was a text from his wife. He looked at Ronnie and smiled.
July 10, 2013 § Leave a comment
I wish I had more time than I had to speak with you. While much can be said, there are only a few thoughts I feel you should know. The first is that I’m quite certain I won’t see you again. The second is that there is nothing I enjoyed more than your company and watching you smile as you told your tales. Finally, if I could have done it all over again there would only be one thing I would change. I wish I would have asked your name.
The man you will never know.
April 19, 2013 § Leave a comment
She went with a smile, embracing her end of days. He grabbed her hand a placed it in his. God-like locks laid calmly in the grass and the expression on her face appeared at peace. He stood armed with a new kind of hope and resolve. He saddled his stallion for the last time, gently praising the powerful and magnificent creature. He trotted off, slow at first, toward their tents. He gripped his sword with unmeasurable strength and drew it from its sheath. And into the shadows of the valley of death he galloped, craving more than just their blood.
April 12, 2013 § Leave a comment
The drive north on 77 was highly anticipated after a long semester. Before going home, we would stop at The River Walk in San Antonio. It was early afternoon by the time we would get there. Our usual parking was an extraordinary one. I say extraordinary because it is at the parking lot of an old hotel some several blocks of The Walk. The treasure beneath this old hotel is a cigar bar. Buried beneath the limestone walls, lead by an old stair well was the ancient layer. It might have been a dungeon in medieval times but today, it was our first stop and always our best stop. The dark corners housed men of great wealth as beautiful woman brought them wine and cigars. I felt my friend and I were both under dressed and under appreciated and rightly so. None the less, the mysterious darkness and cigar smells continuously beckoned us back. It was pricey so only a lager for the two of us, a moderately priced cigar for our journeys and we were off.
Upon reaching civilization, blinded by the afternoon rays, we made our way to The Walk. The dodging of vehicles and horse-drawn chariots required a bit of balance and good timing. Stone statues provided exhausted tourists, the elderly and the homeless a place of rest. It was a typical weekday afternoon. The ascent to The Walk by our usual path is surrounded by several waterfalls. The hotel adjacent houses another place for refreshments but that is not where we begin our journey but end it.
Our next stop is the Irish pub next to a small clearing of beautiful green grass known for having a live band and dark ales. The food can only be described as “good” as the ale may have the potential to cloud our judgment. We of course gorged ourselves regardless. Then, by some time shifting phenomenon, it was nightfall. After these few or so beers, The Walk had awoken from its afternoon slumber. The setting of the sun resulted in the loosening of the reigns in which kept her at bay. When we first arrived, only a few bystanders and mid-shift employees wondered the streets. The bars and restaurants once circumscribed by the “B Team” waiting staff and hostesses, now welcoming with Hollywood-like faces.
Crowds wondered the brightly illuminated banks accompanied by the sounds of chatter and mariachi musicians. Tour boats gracefully turned the meandering river as the man with the microphone carried on about the architectural history, and significance, and so forth. The surrounding pubs and restaurants bellowed out cheers from sports fan and beer fans and food fans. There are Scottish bars with beautiful woman in kilts waiting to take your order with a CREST white smile, a tequila bar to test your tolerance and pocket-book, and restaurants to give you the strength to carry on with the best of us. There is this one particular restaurant where they put a tall white pointy paper hat on your head as the theme of the restaurant is to treat you like shit. As ludicrous as its sounds it is one of the best restaurants, even for a 45 minute wait.
My friend and I wondered at this phenomenon. And so we marched with the rest of the tourists and locals to the eccentric beat where the lines are blurred of nationality and plurality to a place where people can be people. To tourists, the meandering sidewalk could easily cause one to lose their bearings. One wrong step and the inattentive soul could land themselves in the 3 foot deep, untreated waters of the San Antonio River. To a native, however, she easily assuaged the stresses of the day. One by one, we walked in tandem and admired, drank and admired, saw and became inspired, drank and loitered until, she came.
Our last stop stared us in the face. We had walked the entire path, not once but several times. As I had mentioned before, there is this hotel attached to the river. It is a convenient hotel as it makes it easy for its guest to detach from the world simply by taking the elevator to the “River Floor”. That particular elevator is encompassed by glass. The last stop is always bittersweet. It is at this bar and at this hotel where we sit, several beers deep, patiently waiting. We wait for that infinitesimal hope that the lonely housewife may be looking for some trouble. Unfortunately, she did not come to visit us. At least, not this particular visit. And then, as sure as we knew it, it was time to leave. We jumped in our metal stead and rode off into the waves of higher callings. Next time, we thought. After all, she’s just to pass the time.
April 8, 2013 § Leave a comment
His perseverance is unparalleled. Nature has fashioned his hands perfect for picking, and his back for bending; this particular glass of wine I consume is a testament. His apron is soiled with swine and cow and chicken blood; his knife shears no guilt off the meat before me, salted and succulent. His perseverance is unparalleled. Let today be ours for the taking!
April 5, 2013 § Leave a comment
There, in the head nurses arms, was a child soon to be a good man. The child grew to a boy then a teenager. In high school, his father gave him his first bottle of cologne. It was a bottle of Royall. The young boy then on the day of receiving his gift, applied only a single spray before school. It wasn’t by coincidence that he suddenly became more attractive to the ladies but that it was certainly because he smelled so good. So as he gathered his things such as his keys, wallet and watch he would make it a habit that before he headed out the door, he would spray not once but twice from the bottle of Royall. He won the game that homecoming night, got the girl and went home feeling like a King. In his mind he imagined it was because he smelled so good. It was sometime after college that he walked the stage with his class in search of that great career. It just might have happened that he got the job because he smelled so good. He met his wife in the diner that evening. She sat peacefully reading the paper when she was interrupted to borrow the salt. She had mentioned several times that it was because he smelled so good. When the call to arms came, he kissed his lovely wife, grabbed what he knew was important; her photo, his wedding band and of course, that old bottle of Royall. He wrote to her every night as artillery lit the warm, dark blue sky, spraying his letters not once but twice of Royall. It was torturous and satisfying to the young wife. On his return, safe from harm, she held before him a handsome young boy. It was on his 5th birthday that the boy knew his father by the distinct smell of that old bottle of Royall. As years had passed and the man had lived a life of great deeds he passed on his old bottle of Royall. It was, to his son, the greatest memorabilia that he ever retained. The day his father died and bequeathed his cologne, he sprayed not once but twice a spray of old Royall. He never felt more powerful and humble and he knew this feeling all too well; it because he smelled so good.