Horses Lemons and Pretty Girls

By Michael George

Michael George’s Horses, Lemons, and Pretty Girls belongs to the road novel genre. To be more precise, it is an exemplar of the proletarian road novel. Like Kerouac’s iconic On the Road, it is the story of young men traveling across the United States in search of adventure and epiphany. Also like Kerouac’s novel, George’s

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stratton Press
• Release date: Oct 7, 2019
• ISBN: 9781643457826

Michael George

Michael is a retired carpenter with a varied working background - operated and programmed the old main frame computers, managed a 24/7 service station, managed a dairy farm, owned and operated a furniture building company, worked in various warehouses and food stores, and even picked potatoes with Mexican migrant farm workers. He was married for 55 years, had 5 children with only 3 still living, and has countless grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

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Contents

Part 1: Making Small Points

Part 2: Twice Too Many

Books by Michael George

Rains Barrels And Bridges

Finding Peri Gray

The Refuge series

Why A Refuge

Bridge To No Good

Grass Was Greener

For Eloise

Without her help and encouragement when I started

It is unlikely that I would ever have been a writer

For Dennis

The kind of friend everyone wishes they had

Part 1

Making Small Points

Chapter 1

We hit Fargo about the same time as the sun, which came up fast and bright, but with such fragile rays that it did nothing to abate brittle cold. It only managed to color the empty sky a silver gray, which told me it would only stay cold or get colder.

I wasn’t impressed with Fargo either, as I looked at the town through the cracked windshield of the old Kenworth. I’d expected it to be bigger, and it was a real disappointment.

As we dragged down main street, it was impossible not to see that most of the buildings in downtown Fargo were less than three stories tall and dull brown in color. A shade darker than prairie grass after a long drought. I thought it looked like any of a hundred small towns. Later, I changed my mind. It wasn’t as nice. I’ve always wondered if it’s improved any since the sixties. Somehow I doubt it, even though it’s been a long time since I was there.

A lot of cars were double-parked along the street. Larry Koster, the guy driving the rig, was struggling mightily to maneuver around them.

What the hell’s wrong with these people? he complained. Don’t any of them know how to park?

There’s a lot of jumper cables hooked up, I answered, pointing out the obvious to him. Apparently, a lot of cars aren’t starting. It’s real cold out there this morning.

Well hell! he yelled. Why can’t they do it somewhere else?

It might be kind of difficult, with the cars stalled where they are.

Jerks! Larry swore, trying to shift down a gear and missing. Damn. The grinding transmission sounded as if it was about to come apart.

Larry craned his neck over the steering wheel, straining to see through the sun’s glare on the web of small cracks in the windshield. His large eyes appeared to be popping from his head, even while he squinted from the glare. His moustache twitched, and a vein in his neck pulsated constantly. I half expected to see smoke rise out of his ears. Fire was already flickering out of his mouth.

Aren’t we going to stop for breakfast? I asked after we got through the center of town.

No! Larry glared at me. We’re going to find your boss first.

How much farther is it?

What’s the difference?

I’m hungry.

Why should you be hungry? You slept most of the way here. Larry missed another gear. Well, shit!

I guess it seemed strange to him that I would sleep most of the night. Never mind that I normally sleep most of the night.

A short time later, we drove into a high school parking lot. The construction noise was loud and nonstop. Over the rhythmic hammering of pilings being driven into the ground was the roar of heavy equipment digging into and moving dirt. Scattered all around were men in business suits, screaming orders. Everyone wore a hard hat, including the men in suits. Larry put his on when we got out of the truck. I left mine on the front seat.

Where’s your hat? he asked.

In the truck.

Put it on!

Why? I’m not working here.

This is a restricted area. Everyone’s got to wear ’em.

It’s uncomfortable.

Put it on, idiot!

I put the hard hat on. It wobbled as I walked.

As cold as it was, the ground was still muddy from the constant churning of the heavy equipment. Within a few feet of the truck, my boots were so heavy with mud I was sure I could take them home and start a farm.

We stopped occasionally while looking for my new boss to ask one of the many foremen if they’d seen him. Larry did the asking. I stood waiting, watching men lowered by cable into dark cold holes, real happy it wasn’t me going down. After we walked around the entire construction site, we found him waiting for us at the truck.

Where you been, Larry? the little man demanded. I ain’t got all day to wait on you. He pointed a stubby finger at me. That the kid who’s gonna work for me?

It is, Larry told him. Dave Sanders, this asshole is John Olsen.

Glad to meet you, John, I said, giving his limp hand as firm a shake as I could without being obvious.

I sure hope you’re ready to work, said John, flexing his hand and grinning at me with a toothless mouth. On top of his empty cavity, his face held a long pointed nose and tiny brown eyes, permanently fixed at half-mast. Later, he explained his lack of teeth to me.

Yup, he said, as soon’s my gums heal, I’m getting me a full set. Uppers and lowers both.

They must have been pulled recently then?

About three years ago. Gums don’t heal overnight you know. Or ought to any-so-how know.

I didn’t bother to answer him.

John was in a hurry to go, so we left Larry to unload his truck alone. The heater in the old Chevy John drove didn’t work, and the rear window on the left side was partially gone, so it was a cold ride. But the missing window did help to ventilate the exhaust fumes from the leaking muffler, which were coming through holes in the floor.

Is the drilling site far? I asked when we were on our way.

A hundred-fifty miles maybe.

Are we drilling a deep well?

It was gonna be till we didn’t find no water. Now we gotta tear down the rigging and then move it to another spot. Probably won’t find no water there neither. We’re gonna start takin’ stuff apart today.

I was hungrier than ever, so I chanced asking, Do we have time to stop and eat?

I already ate. Besides, I want to get you registered at the motel before it’s full. John took a toothpick out of his shirt pocket and stuck it between his gums. If there’s time after that, we might stop to eat.

I groaned, hating the man and wishing I’d turned this job down, even if it did pay two dollars an hour. I probably could have talked my landlord into waiting on the rent.

West of Fargo, most of the towns we drove through were small, consisting of only five or six buildings. They were usually the same color as those in Fargo and the surrounding countryside. The few exceptions were the frequent churches or an occasional gas station. I didn’t see many trees and didn’t expect to. They’re rare in North Dakota. Almost as rare as hills or bends in the road.

In spite of the frostbite setting in, I managed to doze off.

She was a lovely girl, warm and soft, with her head on my shoulder. My right hand held a scotch and water, resting on a mountain of quilts covering us. My left hand held her bare breast, and I was getting in the mood, with no need to hurry.

That’s where I picked him up, John said, reaching across my face to point at the roadside, waking me, and destroying the dream and my mood.

What? I asked, not understanding him. I was finding it easy to not understand John.

Right there is where I picked him up.

Who?

The hitchhiker I was telling you about.

I think I fell asleep. What about him?

He seemed like a decent-looking kid, so I give him a lift, John began, in the same monotone one would find in a rock—if a rock could talk. I asked him where-to he was going, and he told me. We talked some about this and that, then I asked him if he was from around here. He said he was. So I asked him where he’d been. Know what he told me? He said he’d been in jail. So I asked him why. Think you can guess why?

I didn’t care. I only wanted John to shut up so I could go back to sleep. He was as boring as the surrounding landscape. Besides, she was so beautiful, and it’d been such a long time.

John merely paused for a quick breath and, without waiting for an answer, continued his stimulating dialogue.

You ain’t hardly gonna believe this. I surely know I didn’t. Not at first. Course when I did, and it didn’t take long I can tell you, I showed him how I never coulda stood his kind. He shoulda been shot or at least left in jail. I don’t see how them judges get off being so soft on crime as they is. I wasn’t. Let me tell you, I surely weren’t. No sir-ree. I took care of him. The pervert. It was worse than murder, what he done. My wife, she told me after, no more hitchhikers. And she’s right. I never pick them up no more. Are you married, Dave?

Not anymore. What was he in jail for?

You divorced?

Yes.

Too bad. I couldn’t get along without my little woman. She takes good care of me. Don’t give me no back talk neither. Does what I tell her, the way a woman ought to. I couldn’t never take no sass nor fuss from no woman. Here’s where I dropped the creep. Was I glad to get rid of him. He about made me sick.

What’d he do? I asked, tired of the conversation. Rape a duck?

You’re pretty awful damn close. I know it’s hard to believe. He said he was in jail for screwing sheep. That’s sodomy, you know. Can you imagine, getting out of jail after getting caught doing such a filthy thing as that? What he done was just about the most anti-Christian thing there is. About the only thing worse is queers. And them judges let him out. Have you ever in your life heard of anything so bad?

A few things.

Like what? What can be so bad?

Rape, murder, selling drugs, the CIA and the IRS, slavery, the dirty little war we’re in that should have been over before it started, sometimes marriage, and now, I’m sure, digging wells in North Dakota.

What the hell are you, a communist?

No, I’m an apathist.

What into hell is an apertist?

An apathist is someone who doesn’t care what other people do as long as what they do doesn’t hurt anyone, and they don’t try to force what they do, or believe, onto anyone else.

You’ve got a real horseshit attitude, Dave. You know that?

If you say so.

I gotta tell you, all them things you mentioned ain’t so bad. Some of them is pretty good, if you was to look at them right. Now you take war. If them stupid yellow slant-eyed bastards in Vietnam would let us, we’d give ’em their freedom. All they got to do to get it is do what we tell ’em. And the second big war done some good. You ever think about the great things Hitler done with the Jew menace? And as fer slavery, them niggers… John continued with his lecture on the world’s virtues. I did my best to ignore him the rest of the ride.

The pastel baby-shit green motel stood out from the rest of the town. It had ten units. John and I were in the only two occupied. Most of them looked as though they’d been empty for years. The office where I registered was about the size of a walk-in closet, and the rooms were barely big enough to hold the sagging double bed and dresser they were furnished with. The floors were tile and the wallpaper dirty. John seemed at home there.

The lady in the office didn’t smile when I registered.

From Minnesota? she said.

Yes.

Too bad there aren’t any North Dakota boys who are smart enough to dig wells. She shook her head. Considering the unemployment around here.

I didn’t ask to come here, I said and left.

Maybe you should’ve stayed home then, she said as I went out the door.

I was fairly sure then that the people in North Dakota were about as friendly as the landscape and the weather.

John decided he was hungry after I unpacked, so we finally stopped to eat. I ate breakfast and John had a bowl of soup, which he chewed without too much difficulty.

I slept on the drive to the drilling site, which was another forty miles from the town the motel was in.

The fifty-foot-high drilling tower was surrounded by a lot of equipment I didn’t know the names of. An old flatbed truck stood on one of the few dry spots in the muddy hollow where they tried to find water.

John was busy as soon as he got out of the car. He fiddled with a support cable on the tower, tried to loosen a few bolts, kicked the tires on the old truck, and scratched his behind. He was precise about it but was even more precise about which finger he used to clean out each of his nostrils. He spent a lot of time working on his nose, always giving the results a thorough examination, tasting occasionally to be certain he had the right product. He generally followed his nose with some crotch pulling while staring down the empty hole that would never be a well.

I tried to stay warm.

Well, John said when daylight began to fade, I think we got enough hours in for today. Least ways, we will have by the time we get back to town and eat. So let’s go get Larry. He’ll be at the motel by now.

I didn’t know, I said, he was coming out here. I thought he was going back to Minneapolis.

Face it, fella, you don’t know a lot.

It seemed logical he would, after you drove all the way to Fargo to pick me up.

For your information, I drove to Fargo so’s I’d get some help here today. Not that I did. You ought to remember too, I told you we was moving to another drilling site. It’d only be natural we’d need a truck driver to haul all this equipment.

Why can’t we haul it on the truck here?

Do I look like a truck driver?

I don’t know. What’re they supposed to look like?

John’s nose turned a darker shade of red, and his voice slithered out between clenched gums. Come on, smart-ass, let’s go eat.

Even John’s beat-up Chevy felt good to me as we slipped and slid up the muddy ruts to the highway. I continued to try to ignore him during the long ride back to the motel.

Larry was sleeping when we got there. John and I went into his unlocked room. John shook him awake.

I could use a beer, Larry said as his eyes popped open. This has been one long day. What time is it?

John told him as he stretched and sat up in bed. He rubbed his eyes and swung his bare feet over the side of the bed, jumping when they touched the cold floor.

I know what you mean by long days, said John, pulling at his pants as though he were looking for something he’d lost. I been working twelve, fourteen hours most days, so I know what it’s like. It wouldn’t be so bad, if the company’d appreciate it the way we bust our butts out here.

They never will, Larry said, and you know it.

We went to the local bar to eat. It was located in the basement of a cafe in the center of town. It served beer, setups, and food from the cafe. We drank a few beers before we ordered dinner.

I had two cheeseburgers and fries. Larry and John had the house specialty, smoked pork chops. Larry and I went to the liquor store down the block, bought a bottle of bourbon, and were on our second drink before John finished gumming his pork chops.

The thing I like best about smoked pork chops, said John, picking his gums with a toothpick, is they’re cheap and so easy to eat. Much easier than steak or roast. So I almost always order ’em when I can.

It must be rough, Larry sympathized, not having any teeth.

It could be worse. I could be four-eyed and wear glasses like Dave here does.

You could have a size 13 boot up your ass, I said, clenching my teeth to keep from spitting on him. And have your head rolling on the floor, John. Because that’s exactly what you’re going to get if you ever call me four-eyes again. You sawed-off little wart!

What got you so hot? Larry asked.

It don’t make no never mind to me what done it, John squeaked. I don’t believe he can talk to me in such a manner.

I just did, John!

There’s no reason for you two to get so excited, Larry interrupted. We’re all friends here. He filled our glasses with whisky. Now drink up and relax. We’re gonna have a tough day tomorrow.

We drank seriously then, continuing until the bartender wanted to close. There wasn’t any danger running into on anything of great value on the short drive to the motel because there wasn’t anything of any value. Which was good, considering that John drove.

Larry hung his head out the window on the way, making a mess on the car door.

Chapter 2

Iwoke up hungry, so I was happy when the first thing we did was go out to eat. It meant the morning started right. A contrast to the rest of the day.

Larry complained of stomach problems and John wasn’t feeling real good, so when I finished my four eggs, bacon, sausage, pancakes, toast, milk, orange juice, and coffee, I ate John’s eggs and Larry’s bacon. Then John and I drank a second cup of coffee while Larry went to the restroom to be sick again.

When he was sufficiently recovered, we drove out to the drilling site. John and I rode in the car, with Larry following close behind in his truck. It was cold, and the stiff wind made it colder.

John was in a hurry to take the tower down, so after an hour’s discussion with Larry on how to do it, we started.

The only way to get it down, John told me, is to unhook the support cables and let it fall.

Won’t that bust it all to hell? I asked, wondering, since it took them so long to figure it out how they’d taken towers down in the past.

You got a better way to do it, smart-ass?

I shrugged and shook my head no. I really didn’t care. John handed me a huge adjustable wrench, and we started unhooking the cables. I loosened the first three of the four cables from their anchors. John stripped the head of the bolt on the fourth, so the wrench slipped when he tried to loosen it. He searched through a toolbox on the old truck and found a pipe wrench big enough to do the job. The first time we tried it on the bolt, the wrench’s rusty head broke.

John held another serious discussion with Larry. They decided someone had to climb the tower to unhook the stubborn cable from the top. Larry was a truck driver, so according to union and company rules, he couldn’t. John, a family man with a bad back, wouldn’t. I felt a momentary panic set in.

You don’t really expect me to climb all the way up there, do you? I asked, hearing my voice crack. I’ve never climbed that high in my life. I wouldn’t know what to do when I got there anyway. No way did I want to go up there.

What’s the matter? John asked with an evil grin. You a chicken-shit-bird too?

Yes, I admitted.

Well, shit! Larry said. Someone’s got to go up.

John grabbed his belt, hiking up his pants and sticking out his chest. All them college boys is the same, he proclaimed.

I haven’t been to college, John, I answered, my anger toward him growing stronger than my fear of the tower, but I appreciate the compliment.

We’ll have to think of something else, John, Larry complained. Standing here bickering isn’t going to get the tower down.

I guess I’ll go up, I said finally, knowing I really couldn’t get out of it.

If you’re too scared of climbing that high, Larry said, you shouldn’t. That’s when most people doing this shit work get hurt. Or killed!

Just tell me what to do when I get up there, I said, sighing heavily. I’m not that scared, I lied.

You sure about this?

I guess.

Larry explained what to look for at the top and how to unbolt it when I found it. John reconnected one of the cables that were unhooked, and I started up.

I climbed the heavily swaying tower slowly, knowing if I didn’t hang on tight, the strong wind would blow me off. I was numb with cold and fear when I reached the top. The wind burned my eyes and almost pushed me off every time I tried to use my wrench on the bolt holding the cable. I had to climb inside the tower’s framework to get enough support and leverage to do anything. My hands shook hard, and I dropped the wrench when the bolt came free. A faint sound of breaking glass followed. I was too scared to look down to see what caused it. I tried to hurry as I climbed out of the tower’s framework and started down, but my fear made my descent slow. Until I heard Larry yell. The cable John reconnected was slipping free of its anchor. I increased my speed and immediately scraped some skin off my shins when they slid over a crossmember my feet missed. I hung there, swinging in the wind, desperately searching for footing. Finding it, I scurried down, then jumped the last ten feet. The cable broke loose as I landed on my back, and I heard it singing as it flew over my head, then slapped the side of the tower. It staggered, leaning away from me, then heavily toward me. I was sure I was going to die. Slowly, the tension in the tower’s footings pulled it away, and listing deeply, it hung there for a moment before toppling down. I was much relieved to watch it fall away from me.

John ran over to me.

You goddamn idiot! he swore, staring down at me. Why’d you throw the wrench at my car?

I looked at John’s car and couldn’t help laughing. The wrench I dropped took out the Chevy’s rear window when it landed.

It ain’t funny, John whined.

Stick it, John! Larry barked. You’re the idiot! You could have got the kid here killed, the lousy way you reanchored that cable. So shut the hell up. It’s time to get my truck loaded. You take the tower apart while me and Dave load the rest of this garbage.

Oh no! John screamed. You ain’t giving me no orders. I’m running this here drilling site. We’re gonna do this my way. The first thing we’re gonna do is take this here tower apart. All three of us. Then we’ll load your truck.

Okay, John, Larry agreed. Let’s just get this work done. I plan on heading back to Minneapolis tomorrow.

John picked up a wrench and walked to the downed tower. Placing the wrench on a nut, he bent over and gave it a light tug. Straightening up instantly, his hand holding his lower back, he groaned, Oh man, I sure done it this time. My back is out good. He gingerly walked to his car and pushed himself up on a fender. I guess you guys’ll have to take it apart. He grimaced. I can’t hardly move at all.

Larry talked me out of killing John, then the two of us dismantled and loaded the tower. John strained himself but managed to drive the truck to each piece of equipment scattered around the site as it was to be loaded. Larry rode the back of the truck, running the power winch. I hooked the winch cable to the larger, heavier pieces and lifted, carried, and loaded what I could handle alone. A lot of the stuff had to be carried as far as a hundred feet because it was too difficult for John to back the truck to them. Every time I needed to carry anything, John stuck his head out of the cab to yell. Bring me the flicker-digger, stupid! or Now the ratfat. No! Not that one, the one next to it! Good, you finally figured it out. What an idiot. Now the whistle-dip! Jesus, but this kid is dumb. In between, he bitched. Can’t you hurry your ass some? We ain’t got no week to load this here truck. Goddamn, you’re the slowest son of a bitch I ever seen. His mouth continued running until the truck was loaded.

You know, he explained when it was, you’re goin’ to have to learn how to work, Dave, if you want to keep this job.

It’s hard though, John, I answered. Like I already told you, I haven’t been to college.

You don’t learn how to work by going to no college. You learn how to work by working. You’re as stupid as I thought you was.

It still shouldn’t be any problem. You can teach me how to work, John. Since you’re so good at it yourself.

Don’t you never go getting smart with me, mister, or you might find your ass right out in the cold.

What the hell makes you think it’s warm now?

Knock it off, Larry ordered. We’ve got to get my truck unloaded today if I’m going to be on my way tomorrow.

Take Dave with you to unload, said John. I got other stuff to do.

Larry and I left John sitting in his car, studying the windshield. Larry was in no mood to be careful, so when we reached the new drilling site, he and I pushed everything off the truck as fast as we could, leaving a tangled heap of equipment and cables. It was late when we finished, and we needed headlights to cut through late afternoon shadows on our way back for John. We found him in the Chevy’s front seat, sleeping.

It took you long enough, he complained when we woke him. What the hell time is it?

Late, Larry said. Let’s get the hell out of here. I need a beer.

Good idea, John agreed. Dave, you drive my car back to the motel.

Sure.

Everything went okay for the first few miles. Larry led the small convoy, followed by John, with me bringing up the rear. I relaxed, enjoying the solitude, until the car developed a miss. It got worse every mile, and then the old derelict died, slowing down through a small town. I pulled over and waited for Larry and John to come and get me.

What did you stop for? Larry asked when they did.

I thought you said you could drive, John bitched.

Shove it, John, I told him. This pile of shit died. That’s your fault, not mine.

Get out of my car! John ordered, yanking at my arm. I can start it easy enough.

Climbing out of the car, I clenched my fists, wanting to knock John on his ass. Somehow, I managed to control my temper, knowing it wouldn’t solve anything.

John got in the car to start it. While watching him and Larry tinker, trying to get it going, I suddenly had an urgent need to relieve myself. The only place I could find with any privacy was between the tractor and trailer of Larry’s truck.

I guess we’ll have to push it, said John to Larry when I rejoined them.

John got out of the car and almost immediately noticed a wet spot by Larry’s truck.

Hey, Larry, he said, walking over to it, you got a problem here.

He bent down, sticking his fingers into the wet. He rolled them together, smelled them, then studied them. Finding nothing, he stuck them into the wet again, tasting them.

What are you doing, John? I asked, knowing I was going to enjoy it when I told him what the wet spot was.

Something’s leaking here. I’m trying to figure out what it is.

I know where the stuff on the ground came from.

I doubt that like hell, said John, sticking his fingers in the puddle and tasting them again.

Okay, have it your way. I got in the car.

Wait a minute! What do you think it is?

I took a piss there, John, I said, smiling.

Why, you son of a bitch! screamed John. You let me stick my fingers in it!

I answered with a shrug.

Larry pushed the car, and we were up to fifty miles an hour before it started. He stayed on my tail the rest of the way. Every time the car stalled, he slammed into it, pushing until it started again. When we reached the motel, John stormed out of his truck.

What the hell do you think you were doing to my car? he screamed.

Keeping the damn thing running, I answered.

Look what you did to the back bumper! It’s all bent to hell.

Tough shit, John, Larry said. You’re lucky we didn’t leave the pile of junk on the highway. Let’s get cleaned up. I need a beer, and I’m hungry.

We stopped for a bottle of bourbon on the way to the bar. Larry and I downed several shots with beer chasers before John finished his smoked pork chop. He had several drinks before he’d speak to me.

When he did, it was a lecture. You really ought to learn how to get along with people better than you do, Dave, he began. Because if you don’t—

I left him in midsentence and went to the bar to try to start a conversation with a nice-looking woman sitting there.

Hello, I said, I’m Dave. Who are you?

She’s my wife! answered the giant next to her.

Sorry, I said, trying to be friendly, so who are you?

None of your damn business, fella!

I turned away, mumbling to myself. I should have known better than to be friendly to anyone in this crummy town.

What the hell did you say? the giant asked, leaving his barstool. He picked me up by my jacket.

Nothing.

Oh yes, you did! He threw me against the bar.

Afraid I was about to be killed, I grabbed an empty beer bottle, smashing the end of it on the bar and pointing its jagged remains at the giant’s throat. All hell instantly broke loose as Larry and John left their booth and the rest of the bar’s patrons came to the giant’s aid. Someone fell between me and the giant, and I stepped back, out of the way. Two men grabbed Larry, holding him. John tripped, sprawling on the floor. Several men jumped him, pounding on him with their fists and kicking him with their feet. No one noticed me move to the door. I got out and ran laughing to the motel. I packed fast.

A siren wailed in the distance as I walked to the highway. I stuck out my thumb and a semi going by stopped. A sheriff’s car sped down main street as the truck moved back on the highway. The driver asked me where I was going and I told him.

You’re in luck, son, the driver said. "I’m headed for Minneapolis myself.

Chapter 3

T hanks for the ride, I said to the trucker when he dropped me off a short distance from home. I rested my suitcase in a snowbank to pull up my parka’s hood and put on my gloves before I started walking.

The packed snow on the sidewalks squeaked and crunched under my feet. My face burned from the cold, and I still felt the effects of two nights of drinking. My glasses fogged the instant I went inside my apartment building, and I tripped on the stairs as I went up. I dropped my suitcase on the floor inside my apartment and hung my parka on it. I kicked off my boots, pulled out the hide-a-bed, and lay down, falling asleep immediately, fully clothed, and on top of the bed covers.

I woke up suddenly, feeling as though there was somewhere I should be or had to go, until I remembered the past few days. The apartment was dark, and I didn’t know if it was morning or night. The clock near the bed said six, but that didn’t tell me which it was, so I turned on the radio. The announcer said it was evening. I got up, put a frozen dinner in the oven, and while it cooked, I showered and shaved.

Feeling clean and new, I put on fresh jeans and sat down to eat, so hungry the cardboard chicken, mashed paste, and tiny green marbles tasted good. As I ate, I thought about the future since I’d had four jobs in the last year and, for one reason or other, quit them all. Finding another factory or construction laborer job right away wasn’t what I wanted to do. I kicked around the idea of college but decided to put it off again. Since I wasn’t going to go to work or school right away and because I was tired of winter, it seemed to be a good time to take the trip out west I’d dreamed of for years. All I needed was someone to go with me to share expenses. I already knew who I’d ask.

As I considered which arguments would best convince my old friend to go along, there was a knock on the door. I dropped the tin tray in the wastebasket and the fork in the sink on my way to answer it. I didn’t know the girl on the other side of the door but instantly hoped I would.

Hi, she said as I eyed her from her long dark hair to her knees, I live across the hall. I know this sounds silly, but do you have an ironing board I can borrow?

No, I don’t, I answered, my eyes leaving her breasts and concentrating on her dark brown eyes, but you sure could use it if I had one.

Damn! I’ve got a job interview tomorrow, and I wanted to look decent for it. I guess I’ll have to wear something else.

You don’t need an ironing board. Lay a couple of towels on the table and iron there. I do it that way, and it works fine.

Thanks. It sounds like it’d work. I guess I should have thought of it.

I desperately wanted to invite her in but couldn’t think of a plausible reason.

Do you need to borrow an iron? I asked, trying to stall.

No, I have one. She turned to leave. Thanks anyway.

It was too late to come up with a good approach, so I decided the hell with it and tried it blunt. Would you like to come in for a beer?

Not tonight. Maybe some other time.

I watched her cross the hall and go inside her apartment before I closed the door to mine. Feeling discouraged but not defeated, I put on a stack of records and sat down with a good novel. I finished it, a pack of cigarettes, and a pot of coffee before I went to bed.

Chapter 4

Igot up late, ate a light breakfast, and cleaned my apartment. A job long overdue. I spent the rest of the day at the Laundromat, then called my old friend, Ben Prentice, to tell him I was on my way over. It had started snowing in the afternoon, and it was coming down hard on the way.

You don’t really want to go out in this weather, do you? Ben asked when I suggested we go out for a beer.

Sure. It’s a thirsty night and you don’t have any beer here.

Christ, Ben complained, putting on his coat, you’re nuts. You’ve always been nuts.

I try.

Slush, formed from the mixture of salt and snow, covered the streets. I had a little trouble keeping my ancient Mercury in a straight line and had to hang my head over the steering wheel to see through the streaks on the windshield left by the worn-out, ice-covered wipers. The entrance to the bar’s parking lot was blocked by the snowbank the snowplow left, so I drove in fast. We flew over the pile of snow and slid sideways across the nearly empty lot.

Inside the bar, Ben slid onto the plastic-covered seat of a corner booth. I went to the u-shaped bar for a pitcher of beer. Back in the booth, I poured. Ben’s, down the side of the glass to avoid foam, and mine straight in to build a good head, the way they said to do it in the Budweiser commercials. We gulped the first glass down, and I poured again.

You crazy bastard, Ben said. Quitting another job ain’t no reason to commit suicide. I know you liked digging wells, and that it was the only job you cared anything about in years, but at least, let me go on living. He leaned back, lit a cigarette, stretched his arm along the back of the booth, and worked his face into a serious expression. Why’d you quit this time? he asked. Or did you get bored again, the way you always do?

I didn’t get bored. It was an asshole and the lousy weather in North Dakota. I didn’t much like the truck driver, either.

You sure are clear with your explanations. I understand it perfectly now. You dumb shit!

Okay, I’ll try again. I gave Ben the details of my recent trip to the wonderland of North Dakota.

I bet those two are pissed at you, Ben laughed. What are you going to do now?

Take a trip.

Where to?

Someplace where it isn’t winter. The West Coast, maybe.

How do you figure on getting there?

Drive.

In your pile of junk? You’ll be lucky to get it as far as the Minnesota border, let alone all the way to the West Coast. What about money? You ain’t going to get very far on your good looks. They won’t even get you to the city limits.

I’ve got a few bucks and your car runs good. Between us, we can make it easy enough.

Ben picked up his glass, studied it thoughtfully for a moment, then emptied it in one swallow. Setting the glass gently on the table, he stared at me. When do you plan on leaving?

Monday or early next week. You didn’t think I’d consider going without asking you, do you?

"Damn it, Dave, that’s less than a week away. Why the big hurry? I need more time