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41 Little Egypt

Pecan allergies can be bad, Mantell's throat still constricts clickclicking as I switch shirts. Button the button, his tongue flops a fish.

Should have worn a BVD, gotta button at least half the buttons, the dead disciple's hand on bathroom cement grout, a lobster dance familiar.

Out the door quick. Hey! Me: deerstuck. Hmnn? I say, looking like I have a bus to catch. Which I do, but in the next town. Obsfucate easy.

I swivel, fat broad behind the counter, she rocognizes the purple shirt, shitthinkfast. She jumps in, saving my error. Saw the shirt on TV!

Oh did you, I make nice. Not even a question, no raised brows, just clench hands in pockets of my Levi's. Yes, but I don't know where, nuts.

She said nuts. Seriously? The bus driver asked me. Seriously? I replied. I thought it funny, what with Mantell dead in the head nut doomed.

So what did YOU say? Driver's name was Jimmy Shunk. I left out certain details from my narrative. About the TV? Prompted. Teleprompter.

Made a joke, brainthought. Bus thrummed towards I-24. Little Egypt, bottom of Illinois. Mantell's body found three hours back, new waitress.

No doubt, was big broad freaked out? My pecans, their ketchup. 57 varieties of doom. 7 disciples to go. Damn, the bus driver a captured fan.

Sorry, just thinking. He nodded, he knew, nightquiet. Elvis wore a shirt like this rehearsing on that TV special back in June. Yeah? Yeah.

Good thing you weren't wearing those crazy shades of his, you almost have the sideburns. Tired, I heard skidmarks from his mouth. I yawned.

Tried to make it sound like a chuckle. I didn't even know what a chuckle sounded like. Rockets to Saturn, purple tongue gurgle, those I did.

Ever think about it? (Think what?) Growing out the burns, man. Cops aint bustin hippies anymore, not around here:Chicago maybe. Philosopher.

Evansville 27 mi. Still in Indiana, great. Maybe someone will get on, almost sun up, Jimmy Shunk can have a new companion, I can sleep.

Sure enough, a salesman, waiting on a Bible store bench at the edge of town. Nightmare time for me. Nazis flying, red capes, grey uniforms.

the girl flies low, skirt, no panties, hovers above my head. Gives good view. Drops a little. Drop kicks my head. I stutter flop awake. Ksh.

Salesman gone, town of Metropolis. Know why its Little Egypt? Awake, I just shook my head. Highway sign: Exit: Cairo. Rhymes with payroll.

I ignored him with a nod. Cops checking Indianapolis terminal, dollars to doughnuts. Shit for Shinola. My dead uncle's favorites phrases.

East-west routes likely, buses to Cincinatti, Columbus, Cleveland. What's the big deal with C's in Ohio. Elvis opened with C.C. Rider on TV.

I'd hope they'd at least ignore westward, I had made a dodge, talking east coast time zone yawn to the waitress. Was the moon this lonely?

I'm coming, dear, and this time I'm asking questions. I'm still thinking of them, should make a list. Search pockets, Elvis shirt, notepad?

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