I awaited the arrival of a good man bearing my personal effects and a fond farewell as I am about to go help my Uncle Sam. From my lofty perch I had a bird’s eye perspective of the downtown street beside the Conestoga.
A conversation by concerned citizens – concerned for what I have no clue – was beginning to boil over as the ground heat mingled with humidity as the bright June day morphed into a muggy night.
The simple scene shifted surrealistically to suggest a somewhat satisfactory slant to my present predicament and perspective.
Below my third floor window the party of the first part pulled a pistol and took a pot-shot at the party of the second part. And the party of the second part, now understandably pissed, pulled his piece and popped away at the party of the first part.
A mere five rotations of Mother Earth since turning seventeen and I found a peculiar pleasure in the cordite perfume and pop-and-pow performance. It was the Spirit Guide confirming my decision to leave.
It was not an abundance of patriotism that initially prodded me to answer Uncle Sam’s call. I figured if I have to live where there’s shooting… I might as well get paid for it.
© JW Thomas