Month: August 2014

Sheriff

Posted by – August 17, 2014 1:23 am

An excerpt from a lengthy, emotional near stream of consciousness, written (scrawled?) in ink on 8/8/2014, sometime, transcribed exactly

I’m somewhere over Arizona right now. Or maybe California or Nevada? I know I have a gps on my phone, but I don’t want to ruin the mystery. The land below is brown, that’s all that matters. I’m above the desert. The terrain I love. The west. I love it. God’s country. I think of Kerouac. I think of U2 and Steinbeck. I want to see all of this land, and beyond. Today I am going to Portland. Tomorrow Seattle. Where next? I can’t wait to see the Big Trees next week. I ordered a gin and tonic.

That is one hell of a strong drink! The people around me are probably questioning my decision to begin drinking at 8am or whatever time it is out here. Little do they know I’ve been up for seven hours now.

The man sitting next to me seems very Arizona. He has a sheriff’s mustache and a slightly grizzled look. White, probably 50s. Lean and weathered. He is wearing a windbreaker over a nice shirt, with shorts. White socks, sneakers. He has a hat on, with his sunglasses perched on the brim, and a pair of bifocals on his nose. He has a laptop resting awkwardly on his crossed legs, a feat I myself am able to achieve as we are seated in an exit row.

He pecks at his keyboard with both index fingers. It’s an older model. A PC. He rubs his stubbled chin every so often as he looks at whatever is displeasing him on the screen. I can tell he is in Excel, possibly 2007, but can’t exactly see the data.

He is drinking black coffee, his 3rd cup in 45 minutes and just the third of no doubt countless others since whenever and wherever he woke up this morning. His coffee makes me enjoy my gin even more.