Thursday, June 25, 2009

Chapter 6

When you drive into Montana from the west, you pass some trees then a center opens into a vastness and depth that can't be captured with a small, digital camera. Words like boundless and god come to mind. Words like blue and clean and reset. I've spent a great many years driving and working labor across the states, but I've never driven east through Montana in the daylight. For the first time in what has to be a decade I feel almost great.

Meg and Chico sit up and stare over the cliffs and valleys. I drive and sip my coffee, turn the music off and watch what's around me. The sky is blue and it fades into cobalt blue, and then it fades into a concave canvas. I reach over and rest a hand on Chico's head. He sniffs at the air coming in from the outside through the vent as Meg jumps to the floor. It occurs to me that I will be 39 this year. It occurs to me that I haven't been married or had children, or even been engaged. It occurs to me that I might just close the shop alone, which is fine. I mean, if the past is any reflection of the future, then I'm better off that way. I don't know how to put my finger on the pulse of what I want to do. I only know I want to write books and keep pushing, keep myself young and without the ugliness of being under any type of control.


  1. Isn't it goreous? Montana was always one of my favorite parts of driving back in forth between here and the prairie when I was in grad school there.

    P.s. That picture of Meg is great.

  2. I think you're running from your homosexuality. Come back home, blow some femmed-out dude on a fixie and accept yourself.

    Seriously, I am really enjoying this blog.