The Feet of God

1 - ANOTHER DAY IN PARADISE My conscious awareness returned like velvet curtains parting at The Fancy Pants Arcade, little by little revealing a world to me.   Only I wasn’t about to be entertained by exotic dancers or lap dancing chorines.   No, things was a lot worse.   I awoke to find myself bruised and battered along an unfamiliar shore.   Waves lapped against my nether regions still caught up by the ocean’s edge.   I wiped off the wet sand caking my eyes and squinted into the bright white light of the morning sun.   Listening to the surf’s soothing roar, I knew I was fucking lucky to be alive. Above my waist saltwater and sweat trickled off, while below the belt seaweed clung to me like something unholy and intent on dragging me back into the deep.   With a supreme effort and a loud grunt I finally managed to roll to my side and prop myself up.   Spitting sand from my lips, blowing sand out my nose and shaking sand from my hair, I slowly crawled my way up the beach.   And as I s

2 - MY LONG, STRANGE TRIP It’s illegal in California to hitchhike directly on the interstate.   You gotta stand near entrance ramps and entice passing motorists in about 1.3 seconds with your charms.   I prefer a flashy flick of the thumb and, as with the true professionals, a witty handheld sign that I’ve personally printed on a piece of cardboard. I tellya, guys over the age of 30 with two days’ worth of stubble, bloodshot eyes and a hangdog look don’t tend to fare so well.   So, just between Kimberlina Road and Famoso Highway, I settled in for the duration until I could find my next ride. To kill time I read the hitchhiker message board on the backside of the freeway entrance sign: Bob from Ohio was here 7/15/23 Bob from Ohio still here 7/17/23 What the hell’s wrong with you people?   Bob from Ohio 7/19/23 Bob from Ohio running out of water 7/21/23 Food and water gone!   Hit on head by empty bottle thrown from car.   Tell Mother I love her - Bob from Ohio Fuu

3 - TRUCKIN ' Me and the speeding trucker headed up 99 over 46 and onto 5 before the sun went down.   Good-bye Pumpkin Center, hello Kettleman City. “How long ya been driving?” I asked the wild-eyed driver. Through clenched teeth and a grinding jaw he replied, “Eight years.   My daddy turned me on to truckin’.   He used to take me on runs when I was just a little brat.   I got hooked, hell yeah.   Truckin’s in the family blood.   My granddaddy still drives.   Hell, my great-granddaddy used to tag-team coast-to-coast with my great-grandma back in the early 50’s.   This is all I ever wanted to do.   The first toy truck I got for Christmas sits on a shelf at home.   Every now and then I take her down and run her back and forth across the floor just like when I was pint-size.   Yup, truckin’s the life for me.   Been on the road here 33 days out this time.   Two weeks since I last seen my wife.” I’m not sure how Red reckoned time, but the intensity of his constant rocking to and

4 - PERCHANCE TO DREAM So there I was, dumped in the midst of nowhere in the middle of the night, standing all by myself, rubbing my hands together and breathing in the cold damp air, and I had me one of them strange premonitions I’d just escaped a trucker’s version of doing the honor farm fandango. Standing alone in the darkness by I-5 off-ramp number 5150 erected in MCMLVI, I was soon overcome by exhaustion if not diesel fumes.   I yawned and stretched and heard my tired bones crack and creak.   A steady stream of trucks and cars whizzed by along the freeway above me.   No doubt a lot of important folks was rushing to important places for important reasons.   But down here in the darkness, no one was going nowhere fast. I looked around and spotted a big piece of cardboard laid out near a ditch.   It appeared to be a discarded box about the size of a refrigerator.   I stood there for about a half hour or so, contemplating if I’d be willing to give ol’ Red another chance at my co

5 - DREAM A LITTLE DREAM I drifted to the shadows where dreams are conjured.   I found myself in a strangely familiar country bar & café, all dank and dark, with faint odors of stale beer, smoke and Lysol. To one side of a big empty room of knotty pine and nicotine stains a deer head was mounted on the wall, next to assorted dead trophy fish and framed pictures of snowy mountains and icy lakes.   Dozens of tables was set with paper placemats and red glass candle holders wrapped in white plastic netting and white glass vases filled with red plastic geraniums. I turned and now the long bar was lined with huge men standing with their elbows bent, legs comfortably stretched out, and boots on the brass rail, all laughing and drinking.   I wanted a beer so bad I was drooling.   I jumped and jumped to get the bartender’s attention, but for some reason I was too small. The distinct aroma of home-styled cooking wafted by, so I turned my attention back to the dining area. Here tables

6 - SO SHALL WE REAP My grip on my make-do bedding must’a loosened, as a stiff morning breeze lifted my cardboard duvet and blew it aside like so much trash.   I figured it was time to get up anyhow, and I massaged my eyes and lifted myself from the box springs of crushed succulents.   First things first, I went and found a nearby bush while Nature called. After relieving myself I still had that strange dream in my head, what little I could recollect or make sense of.   Dreams are crazy that way.   Did Billy Peevy tell me there was some answer waiting for me in Florida?   What was the question?   I don’t remember him actually saying such a thing, or even saying a word at all. The first light of day revealed the barren and bereft landscape surrounding me:  concrete, smashed ice plants and a dying oleander.  Up on the interstate the caravan of cars and trucks continued to rush by.  And I was still alone down here.  Or so I thought.  A battered pickup suddenly materialized by the road