Hank returned to the diner, his BLT and Bud sat waiting for him on the bar counter. Charlene the waitress looked curious.
‘You sure took your time in there Hank, is everything ok?’
‘Yeah everything’s just fine, I couldn’t exorcise my demons with all the riff raff goin on, it’s a bloody circus down there.’
‘What’s new I guess.. we’ve had a lot of vagabonds from out of town pouring in, it’s been busy as hell.’
‘What time you finish Charlene?’
‘Bout 5 O’ clock’
‘What’s say you and I get out of here once you punch the clock.’
‘Sure, but where you wanna go?’
‘I got a delivery I gotta make to a Cheesery down in Memphis, I’d enjoy the company if you’d oblige.’
‘I’d lurve to Hank! See you after I clock off.’
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Hank knew Charlene could suck the bend out of a crowbar, but his intention in bringing her along for the journey was born out of loneliness and not lust.
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With another hour to wait till Charlene knocked off, Hank decided to walk down to the truck bays and have a cigarette to kill time. He pulled his last Lucky Strike out of its crumpled packet like a cowboy drawing a gun. As he slowly walked through the jungle of trailers, Hank could overhear two truckers having a conversation.
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‘Burl will kill us if he sees us lookin’ in here Larry, close the fuckin’ door!’
‘I will I will, I just wanted to see what he was haulin’.
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Hank walked over to the men and could see they’d opened up the back of Burls truck, presumably out of curiosity.
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‘You know he’ll have your heads if he knows you been pokin’ around in there don’t you.’
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Larry and his curious homosexual underling friend Dobby shot Hank a dirty look.
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In the center of the truck lay a heavily rusted wrought iron bed which appeared to be civil war era in age. Atop it lay a soiled mattress that had been undoubtedly used and abused by the spills of semen and time. A large rectangle mirror had been poorly bolted to the roof, facing the bed. Hank imagined Burl looking up at his own blushed cherub face in action as he unleashed the dogs of war on a POA. (Prisoner of Amphetamine) whilst the smell of fermented apricots and bourbon stung the air.
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The walls were covered in stains, engine oils, and posters ranging from sepia pictures of John Wayne to the tv show M.A.S.H. General refuse littered the sticky floor amongst piles of clothes and tourn blouses. At the back corner of the truck container several glass jars of yellow fluid were stacked upon each other with pieces of paper stuck to them with scribbled dates, going far back as the 50’s.
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‘I think I’ve seen enough here boys, close her up, he’s runnin’ an antiquated fuck barn in here and it ain’t none of our business.
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Larry and Dobby scurried fearfully into the night, and as they left view, the deep red face of a seemingly demigod child with high blood pressure appeared.
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‘What were those boys doin’ noseying around my truck Hank?.’
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‘Sorry Burl, they’d jimmied the door open, I shoulda stopped them, but you know how it is. Curiosity killed the meth addicted trucker and all that.’
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‘Haha, well that’s ok Hank, I’m sure they didn’t see anythin’ they aint’ already seen at Billy’s anyhow.’
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‘Well I actually saw you had some yellow ja..’
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‘Oh you mean John Wayne? Yerp, greatest American who ever lived.’
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‘No I meant the..’
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‘Yep, they say when The Duke kicked the bucket he had 35 pounds of impacted shit in his colon. Made Elvis look like a choir boy. Yessir, they had to bury him in a big ole’ piano box. Brings a tear to my eye just thinkin’ about it.
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