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Tales of Solitude pt5
2002-12-06 - 9:44 p.m.


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Tales of Solitude

 

part 5:  egg-less

 

 

And those tire tracks preyed at me a little bit.  Only a little, though.  Only in as much as I wanted to amuse myself with them.

 

In a way, I hoped it was someone.  But then, I have been too much seeking attention and approval from others, anyway.

 

I went around the lake to get the daily newspaper, and rent a DVD.  Check.

 

Got back by 3:00, trying to make a late brunch, bacon and eggs.

 

No fuckin' eggs.

 

Goddamit.

 

So I went back around the lake to the one store, and they were out of goddam eggs.

 

"Sorry, the guy was supposed to come on wednsday, but he didn't."  the man said.

 

I thought about hitting him up for two eggs from his personal stash, but didn't.

 

"No worries, its just a bummer, you know?"  I said.

 

"Yeah, I'll have to talk to him."  he said.

 

"Beat him with a wet noodle for me."  I said.

 

The clerk laughed nervously, but didn't know what to make of my comment.  This is fine.  I've never really known what to make of the wet noodle line of humor myself, which is one reason, likely, why I periodically propigate the species. 

 

On the other hand, it almost sounds vaguely homoerotic.  I guess I just don't care enough to figure it out either way.

 

So I headed out for town, flying like madness on the wing.

 

There are no police in this area.  There is a "Neighborhood Watch", but no local police.

 

State police occaisionally, but that's more for the summer.

 

I drive however I damn well please, usually.  Here, I will zip through town frequently at seventy miles an hour, no less, if I perceive I am in a hurry, screeching around curves and swearing at the locals who give me a wide birth, usually.

 

I keep waiting for them to fuck with me in a malicious redneck way, but they never do.

 

Never do.

Anyway, hauled ass up to town, and stopped at this little fresh produce store that I hadn't been back to since I was tweleve, and bought a gigantic assed gob-stopper. 

 

It was huge.  I had to lick it before I could cram it in my mouth, and when it finally fit, it made my jaws ache.

 

Hmmm. 

 

I walked in, and two guys were in there, engrossed in what appeared to be the dullest conversation I've ever heard.  Not even sure what they were talking about, but it seemed to have its own gravity, its own weight.

 

I rushed about the store, looking for eggs.  I was in a hurry.  I had already toasted my bread, and buttered it!  Billie Holiday was playing!  Give me my eggs!

 

No eggs to be found.

 

Motherfucker.

 

I am in an egg-less town.

 

An egg-less corner of the world.

 

What the fuck.

 

I did find the smut-rack, however, and was sorely tempted.

 

All the major smut mags, and then some, all under wraps. 

 

I thought about it, and passed, reflecting briefly that girls will read Playboy with you, but generally speaking, will not read Hustler with you.

 

Generally speaking.

 

As I walked about the store, the woman at the counter sighed as her son was talking to her.  Either he was driving her up the wall, or she didn't want me to know she was a single mother, out on the make, and just looking for a little loving by a mysterious stranger in a wonderful coat, her chances spoiled as she knows young men have no interest in woman with children, damaged goods and opportunity lost.

 

Not that I think these things.  That's just what her sigh said to me.

 

Generally speaking.

 

I approached the counter, and asked if she had any eggs.

 

Of course, she did.

 

I bought them, and raced back home at top speed.

 

As I pulled into the driveway, I realized that the tracks were remenants of my trips the prior days.  Detritus of melting snow on the roadway, a phantom existance of my own paranoia, something pulled out and played around with for my own amusement.

 

 


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