The Feet of God

 12 - JUST LIKE OLD TIMES

Around here I might be regarded as a lowly newbie Seeker (well, sort of; I hadn’t exactly signed any contracts or recruitment papers just yet), but even I could see this show was over.  While some attendant Seekers saw to the old woman’s various needs, I headed straight for the porch door.

Outside the night had turned chilly with a drizzle.  I flipped up my collar and lit my last Kool.  All the bonfires was dampened now and there was no heat or light to be felt or seen.  This made me stop and think.  Here I was again, alone and in the dark, in a strange and unfamiliar place, and I couldn’t believe how far removed I was from the life I once led in my trailer court home back in Bakersfield.  I yawned and felt very sleepy.

The light sprinkle changed to a soft rain with bigger drops ploppin’ from the eaves above where I was standing.  While Bob remained inside and tended to Ma with the others, there wasn’t a Seeker to be found to show me where to bunk for the night.  I’m pretty self-sufficient if the situation arises, so I retreated to Bob’s parked pickup truck and crawled underneath, just like old times under my personal mobile home in Broken Heart Park.

You can imagine my displeasure when I was all set to doze off and heard loud approaching voices.  I rolled to my side as the voices drew near, then I saw two pairs of dirt-covered boots a few feet away from my nose.  I had no choice but to listen to their conversation.

“I’m scared.”  (It was Bob.)

“But you’re with me.  I’ll take care of you and the baby.  I can pluck it.”  (It was that boyfriend of hers, Rufus.)

“Ohhh doofus….”  (The talk stopped.  It sounded like they was busy making out.)

“No, not here.  Here.”  (I heard Bob lifting the tarp in the back.  She hopped on the bumper then up and over, and the truck began to bounce.)

“Right behind you.”  (Rufus jumped in, and soon the pickup started bouncing up and down some more.)

“Mmmmmm....”   (The two smooched and tittered.)

Nobody’s ever accused me of being a Casanova or Don Juan type, I will admit, but I do know you don’t want no romantic interludes in a cold rain under a piece of canvas in the back end of a dirty ol’ pickup truck with no music to set the mood right.

Then again, maybe I was just in a foul mood myself facing the prospect of tryin’ to fall asleep under a pickup truck with a whole lotta shakin’ going on.  And to top it off, I was fresh outta smokes.

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