Saturday, May 23, 2009
These are the rest of the ill-fated Indianapolis trip. The price for that pale son of a bitch hot dog should have been a warning. I do enjoy Greyhound, though. I like being on the bus at night, the only one awake. Seeing a red dot that might be a Coke machine a half-mile away at a gas station. Horatio Salt told me before I left that there are always bus stories. Richard Matheson wrote a few, his ownself.
I'm still getting notes about my head. Its OK right now, earlier I had a screaming headache, and I don't even want to talk about yesterday. As long as I don't get double-vision, I'm cool. After the contusions in my head after the accident in 1989, I described the headaches as like having a twisty nail hammered into my head, yanked out, then punched in just...a...little...bit deeper. This wouynd here, its cake. Not good cake, mind you.
The last of the Indianapolis photos. Interrupted by gashing my head. Bo commented correctly, you just commit your soul to the written word. You hurt, you write about it. You enjoy watching DANCING WITH THE STARS, you, well, OK, maybe you keep that to yourself. I mentioned spending time in this bar. Across the alley was the viaduct, the Amtrak trains ran above it. I talked more to the guy in the beard earlier in the day than I did the other dude, I gave them both a buck to take their photos. The guy in the sleeping bag has that specifically so his laptop cannot be stolen. I really wanted to sleep out there instead of inside the terminal, but I knew I'd regret the early morning chill. Oh, I even gave a buck to the Whiskey Sign guy. He wasn't even begging, I just gave him a buck for the photo. (This goes back a bit.) Look to the left, sure looks like some object in the window is giving the finger. So I ate two breakfasts in the Red Eye Diner and wrote "Salt." I'm baffled by the imagery, I've never written anything like it before. Maybe I'm evolving. Can't seem to upload it. Fucking technology. Like I said above, its all about the written word. I'll email y'all the story, if you want...Wayne