In BURNT on January 22, 2010 at 5:50 pm


It’s a one-lane road heading deep into the middle of nowhere and we’re stuck behind the school bus with the psychedelic paint-job.  The fucking peace symbol on the back door is bouncing in my face – it’s been doing that for hours.  It looks like a chicken-foot.  It looks like the foot on a cartoon chicken.  This is the symbol of my generation?


This way of life has run its course, its bedrock philosophy proven bankrupt, and the group of followers have grown smaller and smaller, scattered in the wilderness, ceaselessly chasing their lost summer.  And we trail along behind them.

“Breathe, daddy.”

These ideas of mine aren’t even fresh.  I’ve seen plenty of peace symbols, and had plenty of time to ruminate on them, over the last…what?  Three years?  Shit, since Josey was seven.  What a waste.

“C’mon, daddy.  Breathe.”  She strokes my arm.  My little girl, keeping me sane.

The Story So Far

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