A John Wayne Winter; A Cicada Summer

Allow me to tell you about my little place. Outside my door, I have a wall of cedar trees. A family of Robins, tufted titmouse’s, and few other things I'm sure live their. This wall goes past my door and past my two windows creating a psychological barrier of cedar leaves. The side of my house, where my Mountain Bike lives, is a chain link fence which serves no purpose other then to make me feel blocked in. If you walk to the end of the building the fence also ends with nothing stopping someone from simply walking around it. My cedar hedge gives way to a Forsythia hedge, which was neglected for many months.

When I come home from a hard night at the bar I sometimes wish I have a machete. They grow on both sides of the path which is serpentine in nature, and lazily winds its way back into the unseen parts of the property; the parts I call home. The spiders like to make web's crossing the path at head height for a 72" man. Furthermore, it is very dark at night, with no lights of any kind around; all I have are my 30 second delay lights from the headlights of my car.

Sprinting down the path in my more sober moments down the dirt path through a portion of memory and shadow dancing while holding a stick out in front of me as though I was a flag barer who is getting shot at. The hard nights of drinking, of course, add a slight complication to an already complicated matter, which of course shouldn't be at all. I should just have to walk up to my door and be done with it, with a dog, two cats, 2.3 kids, and dinner waiting for me.

But, no, that's not me. Never being one much for a stumble, but more of a deliberate stomp/trudge forward with a slight lean forward. I sometimes wonder what I must look like to the outside world viewing me, as I make my way down this path slowly. Arms occasionally swinging after a spider web hits me in the face with its constricting feel and wraps around my face and welds itself to my skin with it's perpetual stickiness. And then, a howl/curse/grunt to top it off. My apartment has transformed me into a thing which time forgot.

There have been moments where I have thought of going to sleep in the big back yard which goes on for acres and acres. It's a nice large green yard.... but my landlord has seen to blocking any possibility of a view with any obstruction he can, unknowingly I'm sure. Or maybe he's the devil? I've gotten lost back there before, having taking a wrong turn in the Forsythia. Mind you - when it gets dark, it gets real dark.

Considering I keep all my camping equipment in my trunk, I just may do that some day - if it wasn't for that skunk... but that's another story.

Now, the road I live off of is called South Broadway, sounds cute enough right? In Red Hook, we have exactly two roads of any importance and with these two roads comes are very important singular traffic light which people will line up for miles and miles to wait in. For two of the directions, there are no turning signals. So, this means one car will go through after the light goes red and this man/woman squeaks in, assuming this isn't a blind 80 year old veteran with his 25 foot long Fleetwood, POW stickers, and his red ballcap worn so low on his brow that unless eye sockets are cut out of the brim, he can't see... of course, that never happened.

At any rate, tractor trailers like to drive down this street. The speed limit is 30 and they feel the need to do 50. They also like to test out their Jake breaks.





They also like to do this at 5AM, kind of like this morning. Well, for those of you who know me, know this can cause me to jump out of bed, injure a limb on a wall, look for a gun/large metal object and go into Rambo mode. I actually wake up in the morning very happy normally, but loud bangs, roars, gun blasts, GQ alarms, and other such things can be a bit startling. Good thing my guns aren't with me eh? To top it all of, I have some dinner across the street which they just love to stop at. I think they challenge themselves as to how fast they can come in town and still make the corner. Nascar generation I guess.

All this for 500 bucks a month.