On the Way to WorkRichard Soberpaintings

Last time I saw Larry Hudson of the Lazy H Ranch he was pulling out of my driveway in his Dodge Ram, its windows shot out by a friend of his fiancée’s. First time I saw Larry he claimed his truck guided him to my house. He saw the “for sale” sign, asked how much. I told him. He said he would take it. He said he didn’t have to see the inside of the house, but okay. We still live in our house. Larry’s phone is disconnected. I don’t know if he still lives in his. The high plains around Trementina thirst for stories, that, if one is inclined for endings at all, one might be inclined to go for the happy ones. But, here the diamond door, the silver light, the golden west, the hidden day. All the trouble in-between, the getting to and the leaving behind are what matters most east of the county seat, west of a self-sabotaging dream. We are still not sure if Larry Hudson’s name was really Larry Hudson.

RS 2008